Revenge
Is Hatred such a restless thing
That all my sleep is broke?
By night I seem to hear the ring
Of steel behind the smoke,
At dawn the chilling fog-bays wreathe
His image in the west,
Ah, Mary! if I could but sheathe
My dagger in his breast.
His name I hear in every shout,
In every wind that sighs,
I see his doubles walk about
Wearing his bloodshot eyes;
I grip my blade ten times a day
Seeing strange men who bear
In guiltless eyes the guilty grey
His green eyes used to wear.
I would not send a bit of lead,
Nor hang him on a rope;
For I must feel that he is dead,
O I must see him grope
With twitching hands upon the brink
While his life-blood doth start!
I’d give my soul to sink ... sink
This dagger in his heart.