That thou betrayest not one spark
Of feeling for the ruthless deed,
That did thy praiseful dance succeed.
For on the head they make you look
As if a sullen joy you took,
A cruel triumph, wicked pride,
That for your sport a saint had died.
That thou betrayest not one spark
Of feeling for the ruthless deed,
That did thy praiseful dance succeed.
For on the head they make you look
As if a sullen joy you took,
A cruel triumph, wicked pride,
That for your sport a saint had died.