"Grant, jester Death," I, laughing, said,

"Thy haggard fool a boon!" ...

And unforgiving, unforgiven,

A derelict, by tempest driven,

I drave beneath the breadth of heaven ...

Grim sorrow fell on all things fair;

To dust was turned the lover's breath.

Ah longing, like a pariah bare,

And passion, led by lewd despair

To kiss the smelling jowl of death!

As in a sunless cavern cold,

Like one who flies a crime,

Fearful, and old as God is old,

The spirit shrank from time;

For a stifled scream was the angry gold

Of the weird sunset, and the noonday bold

Was the stare on the face of a crime.

I saw as brain-blurred drunkards see;

I felt, yet could not feel;

I seemed in moving time to be

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