Volume IV Part 27 (2/2)

XVII.

That door could lead to h.e.l.l?

That s.h.i.+ning merely meant d.a.m.nation? What! She fell Like a woman, who was sent Like an angel, by a spell?

XVIII.

She, who scarcely trod the earth, Turned mere dirt? My Agnes,--mine!

Called so! felt of too much worth To be used so! too divine To be breathed near, and so forth!

XIX.

Why, I dared not name a sin In her presence: I went round, Clipped its name and shut it in Some mysterious crystal sound,-- Changed the dagger for the pin.

XX.

Now you name herself _that word_?

O my Agnes! O my saint!

Then the great joys of the Lord Do not last? Then all this paint Runs off nature? leaves a board?

XXI.

Who's dead here? No, not she: Rather I! or whence this damp Cold corruption's misery?

While my very mourners stamp Closer in the clods on me.

XXII.

And my mouth is full of dust Till I cannot speak and curse-- Speak and d.a.m.n him ... ”Blame's unjust”?

Sin blots out the universe, All because she would and must?

XXIII.

She, my white rose, dropping off The high rose-tree branch! and not That the night-wind blew too rough, Or the noon-sun burnt too hot, But, that being a rose--'t was enough!

XXIV.

Then henceforth may earth grow trees!

No more roses!--hard straight lines To score lies out! none of these Fluctuant curves, but firs and pines, Poplars, cedars, cypresses!

END OF THE FOURTH VOLUME.

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