The World’s Tragedy

62 THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. Upon me in the market would come by. He twitched his robe awry, And I beheld — ah ! what a fatal graft In that strange tree of youth ! What gnarled and knobbed Live tree throbbed, throbbed With formidable threat — why did I fear ? What mystery encloses me ? My God ! protect me ! See On the horizon what strange star awakes, Like a gross lion that shakes His tawny mane — and roars. Am I the prey ? See ! like a tangle of black snakes An evil smoke obscures the firmament Belched from his throat ! Now I repent This mine adventure ; I must creep, creep in — I fear the night — oh day — day — come, sweet day ! Best was thy spur, the bloodied silver ache That stings me like a snake, The itch of blood, the shapeless thing that nestles Between my baby breasts, The lion lust that wrestles With mine own soul — I understand so little — Nay ! not the tiniest tittle ! All that I know is this — the pangs consume