For the scourge I bear drives Truth away.
“Friends have I sought by like or lure,
And begged their hands in fellowship,
And felt their stabs, than steel more sure,
The scorn that curls the sneering lip;
“So never a friend have I known to love,
And never a love have I known to keep,
Now grip this life I am weary of,
And stab me down to a dreamless sleep!”
The tracker thought of the crimson path