214 
LE VIN DE L’ASSASSIN 
 
 
And I shall sleep—yes, like a dog !   
 The lumbering wagon with its weight 
Of wheel, its load of stone or log, 
 May well come crawling—it is fate !   
 
Crush my curs’d head—cut me in half !   
 The guilty soul, the swinish clod !   
I laugh at it—laugh as I laugh 
 At the body and the blood of God !