Volume II Part 7 (1/2)

See, see, once more, though all their souls be dead, They hold it up, triumphantly hold it up, They feel, they warm their hands upon the Cup; Their c.r.a.pulous hands, their claw-like hands break Bread!

See, with lean faces rapturously a-glow For a brief while they dream and munch and drink; Then, one by one, once more, silently slink Back, back into the gulfing mist. They go,

One by one, out of the ring of light!

They creep, like crippled rats, into the gloom, Into the fogs of life and death and doom, Into the night, the immeasurable night.

RED OF THE DAWN

I

The Dawn peered in with blood-shot eyes Pressed close against the cracked old pane.

The garret slept: the slow sad rain Had ceased: grey fogs obscured the skies; But Dawn peered in with haggard eyes.

II

All as last night? The three-legged chair, The bare walls and the tattered bed, All!--but for those wild flakes of red (And Dawn, perhaps, had splashed them there!) Round the bare walls, the bed, the chair.

III

'Twas here, last night, when winds were loud, A ragged singing-girl, she came Out of the tavern's glare and shame, With some few pence--for she was proud-- Came home to sleep, when winds were loud.

IV

And she sleeps well; for she was tired!

That huddled shape beneath the sheet With knees up-drawn, no wind or sleet Can wake her now! Sleep she desired; And she sleeps well, for she was tired.

V

And there was one that followed her With some unhappy curse called ”love”: Last night, though winds beat loud above, She shrank! Hark, on the creaking stair, What stealthy footstep followed her?

VI

But now the Curse, it seemed, had gone!

The small tin-box, wherein she hid Old childish treasures, had burst its lid.

Dawn kissed her doll's cracked face. It shone Red-smeared, but laughing--_the Curse is gone_.

VII

So she sleeps well: she does not move; And on the wall, the chair, the bed, Is it the Dawn that splashes red, High as the text where _G.o.d is Love_ Hangs o'er her head? She does not move.