VI.
I did not dream to see the soulless eyes
Of you I hated; nor the lips where lies
And kisses curled; your features,—that were tuned
To all demonic,—smiling up as might
Some deep damnation! while.... my God! I swooned!...
Oozed slowly out, between the breast's dead white,
The ghastly red of that wide dagger-wound.
HER PRAYER.
She kneels with haggard eyes and hair
Unto the Christ upon the Cross:
Her gown is torn; her feet are bare.
What is this thing she begs of him,
The gentle Christ upon the Cross?
Her hands are clasped; her face is dim.
Is it forgiveness for her sin,
She asks of Christ upon the Cross?
And mercy for the soul within?
With anguished face, so sad and sweet,
She kneels to Christ upon the Cross:
Her arms embrace his nail-pierced feet.
Her tears run slowly down her face,
O piteous Christ upon the Cross!
And through her tears she sighs and says:—