Page:Dreams and Images.djvu/252

 Out of the face of the heavens my anger shall blot the sun. For the man I made and breathed on, filled with my breath of breath, Hath sown the seas with hatred, his skies are dark with death. The babe is slain at the bosom, the babe who beholds my face; A welter of woe he leaves it,—the dream of my love and grace.

"Love was the dower I gave him, love the light of his days, Love the core of his being, love, and the upward gaze. Hate is the meat he feeds on, hate is his daily bread: His drink is the blood of his brother, whom Cain hath stricken dead. I said to the man in the Garden: 'Where is thy brother, Cain?' 'Am I my brother's keeper?' now comes the answer again." The Lord God said to His angel: "This Thing is accursed and a lie: It hath sinned from the Law I gave it, and surely it shall die."

"The Beasts of the field are patient, the birds rejoice in song,— But what is this Thing of blood-lust, and where does it belong? Lo, I shall establish a judgment: Let the old things pass away: