When once a sheep gets its blood up
The goats will remember...."
But the herdsman swooped down
Shouting,
"Get back to your pens there."
September, 1918.
THE POET'S LAMENT.
Before the dawning of the death-day
My mind was a confusion of beauty.
Thoughts fell from it in riot
Of colour,
In wreaths and garlands of flowers and fruit...
Then the red dawn came
—And no thought came to me
Except anger
And bitter reproach.
God filled my mouth
With the burning pebbles of hatred,
And choked my soul
With a whirl-wind of fury.
He made my tongue
A flaming sword
To cut and wither
The white soft edges
Of their anæmic souls.
I ridiculed them,
I despised them,
I loathed them
... But they had stolen my soul away.
Yes, they had stolen my soul from me.
My heart jumps up into my mouth
In fury;
They have stolen my soul away.
But we will wait,
And later words will come
—Words that in their burning flight
Shall scorch and flay,
Or flare like fireworks
Above their heads.
In those days my soul shall be restored to me
And they shall remember,
They shall remember!
JUDAS AND THE PROFITEER
Judas descended to this lower Hell
To meet his only friend—the profiteer—
Who, looking fat and rubicund and well,
Regarded him, and then said with a sneer,
"Iscariot, they did you! Fool! to sell
For silver pence the body of God's Son,
Whereas for maiming men with sword and shell
I gain at least a golden million."