Thy letter was a flash of lightning,
Illuming night with sudden glow;
It served with dazzling force to show
How deep my misery is, how fright’ning.
E’en thou compassion then didst share,
Who, ’mid my life’s sad desolation,
Stood’st, like the sculptor’s mute creation,
As cold as marble, and as fair.
O God, how wretched must I be!
For into speech her lips are waking,
From out her eyes the tears are breaking,
The stone feels for me tenderly.
The sight hath fill’d me with confusion;
Have pity, Lord, though thou mayst chasten,
Thy peace bestow, and quickly hasten
This fearful tragedy’s conclusion.
IX.
The true sphynx’s form’s the same as
Woman’s; this I see full clearly;
And the paws and lion’s body
Are the poet’s fancy merely.
Dark as death is still the riddle
Of this true sphynx. E’en the clever
Son and husband of Jocasta
Such a hard one found out never.
By good luck, though, woman knows not
Her own riddle’s explanation;
If the answer she discover’d,
Earth would fall from its foundation.
X.
Three women sit at the crossway lonely,
They’re thinking and spinning,
They’re sighing and grinning;
Their very aspect is hideous only.