Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/282

Rh We wretches cannot tell out all our wrong, Without offence to decent happy folk. I know that we must scrupulously hint With half-words, delicate reserves, the thing Which no one scrupled we should feel in full. Let pass the rest, then; only leave my oath Upon this sleeping child,—man’s violence, Not man’s seduction, made me what I am, As lost as. . I told him I should be lost. When mothers fail us, can we help ourselves? That’s fatal!—And you call it being lost, That down came next day’s noon and caught me there, Half gibbering and half raving on the floor, And wondering what had happened up in heaven, That suns should dare to shine when God Himself Was certainly abolished. ‘I was mad,— How many weeks, I know not,—many weeks. I think they let me go, when I was mad, They feared my eyes and loosed me, as boys might A mad dog which they had tortured. Up and down I went, by road and village, over tracts Of open foreign country, large and strange, Crossed everywhere by long thin poplar-lines Like fingers of some ghastly skeleton hand Through sunlight and through moonlight evermore Pushed out from hell itself to pluck me back, And resolute to get me, slow and sure; While every roadside Christ upon his cross Hung reddening through his gory wounds at me,