Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/141

 I wrestled with my soul when twilight fowls
 * Began their rigadoon,

Where the lost cypress, like Ophelia, mourns
 * Above the gaunt lagoon.

Dumb with disaster, we did grapple on,
 * Like Ghibbeline and Guelph;

Though I could flee all other things beside,
 * I could not flee—myself.

Yes! I have pillaged the forbidden boughs
 * Of all their stealthy lore;

The fruit that shed its dust upon my lips
 * Was from Gomorrha’s shore.

Love! I will cleanse those lips at Siloe’s pool,
 * Incumbent to the sod;

I look upon my Past, as Pagan’s look
 * Upon their cloven god.

Love! will kneel at holier knees again,
 * With sin-abashing brow,

And learn a new Philosophy from Faith
 * To save me from the slough.