Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/567

 Some private and unspeakable new monster Equipped for such a thing's extermination; Whereon the monster, seeing no other monster Worth biting, would have died with his work done. There's a humiliation in it now, As there was then, and worse than there was then; For then there was the boy to shoulder it Without the sickening weight of added years Galling him to the grave. Beware of hate That has no other boundary than the grave Made for it, or for ourselves. Beware, I say; And I'm a sorry one, I fear, to say it, Though for the moment we may let that go And while I'm interrupting my own story I'll ask of you the favor of a look Into the street. I like it when it's empty. There's only one man walking ? Let him walk. I wish to God that all men might walk always, And so, being busy, love one another more." "Avon," I said, now in my chair again, "Although I may not be here to be happy, If you are careless, I may have to laugh. I have disliked a few men in my life, But never to the scope of wishing them To this particular pedestrian hell Of your affection. I should not like that. Forgive me, for this time it was your fault." He drummed with all his fingers on his chair, And, after a made smile of acquiescence, Took up again the theme of his aversion, Which now had flown along with him alone For twenty years, like lo's evil insect, To sting him when it would. The decencies