|e) THE MOTHER’S TRAGEDY
Naked as dawn, the purpose of the hour
Grows on my vision, and my cynic laughter
Chills in my veins: the old avenging power
Shows me the thing that is to be hereafter.
I gloated on the coming of the curse—
I did create a hearse,
Black plumes and solemn mourners; and
saw
The triumph of some natural law
Fit for a poet’s verse.
I saw some common fate to lure, to tempt;
(No mortal of the ages is exempt)
Some notable disaster to the house
Wherein such piety and love abide;
I saw some hateful spouse
Carry away the bride.
That feeble prescience of events to come,
That stultified imagining, hath lied;
And I can see, though all the signs be dumb
And auguries unfruitful—I can see,
Now, some intolerable tragedy
Fit for a god to picture, not a man!
I see the breaking of the rosary,
And Fate’s cold fingers snap the span
Of three most innocent and pleasant lives.
So terrible a happening dives
Swift from God’s hand to the abyss of hell,
And in its torment thrives,
Gathering curses from the darkest cave,
Calling corruption from the grave