Page:The city of dreadful night - and other poems (IA cityofdreadfulni00thomrich).pdf/59

 But coming level with it I discerned That it had been a man; for at my tread It stopped in its sore travail and half-turned, Leaning upon its right, and raised its head, And with the left hand twitched back as in ire Long grey unreverend locks befouled with mire.

A haggard filthy face with bloodshot eyes, An infamy for manhood to behold. He gasped all trembling, What, you want my prize? You leave, to rob me, wine and lust and gold And all that men go mad upon, since you Have traced my sacred secret of the clue?

You think that I am weak and must submit; Yet I but scratch you with this poisoned blade, And you are dead as if I clove with it That false fierce greedy heart. Betrayed! betrayed! I fling this phial if you seek to pass, And you are forthwith shrivelled up like grass.

And then with sudden change, Take thought! take thought! Have pity on me! it is mine alone. If you could find, it would avail you naught; Seek elsewhere on the pathway of your own: