Poems (Jackson)/Habeas Corpus
For works with similar titles, see Habeas Corpus.
HABEAS CORPUS.
Y body, eh? Friend Death, how now? Why all this tedious pomp of writ?Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow For half a century bit by bit.In faith thou knowest more to-day Than I do, where it can be found!This shrivelled lump of suffering clay, To which I now am chained and bound,
Has not of kith or kin a trace To the good body once I bore;Look at this shrunken, ghastly face: Didst ever see that face before?
Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art; Thy only fault thy lagging gait,Mistaken pity in thy heart For timorous ones that bid thee wait.
Do quickly all thou hast to do, Nor I nor mine will hindrance make;I shall be free when thou art through; I grudge thee nought that thou must take!
Stay! I have lied; I grudge thee one, Yes, two I grudge thee at this last,—Two members which have faithful done My will and bidding in the past.
I grudge thee this right hand of mine; I grudge thee this quick-beating heart;They never gave me coward sign, Nor played me once a traitor's part.
I see now why in olden days Men in barbaric love or hateNailed enemies' hands at wild crossways, Shrined leaders' hearts in costly state:
The symbol, sign, and instrument Of each soul's purpose, passion, strife,Of fires in which are poured and spent Their all of love, their all of life,
O feeble, mighty human hand! O fragile, dauntless human heart!The universe holds nothing planned With such sublime, transcendent art!
Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine Poor little hand, so feeble now;Its wrinkled palm, its altered line, Its veins so pallid and so slow—
. . . (Unfinished here.)
Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art; I shall be free when thou art through.Take all there is—take hand and heart; There must be somewhere work to do.