Page:The Ballad of Reading Gaol (1904).djvu/32

 And through each brain on hands of pain Another's terror crept.

Alas! it is a fearful thing To feel another's guilt! For, right within, the sword of Sin Pierced to its poisoned hilt, And as molten lead were the tears we shed For the blood we had not spilt.

The Warders with their shoes of felt Crept by each padlocked door, And peeped and saw, with eyes of awe, Gray figures on the floor, And wondered why men knelt to pray Who never prayed before.

All through the night we knelt and prayed, Mad mourners of a corse [sic]! The troubled plumes of midnight were The plumes upon a hearse: And bitter wine upon a sponge Was the savour of Remorse.

The gray cock crew, the red cock crew, But never came the day: 16