The Sinner

O hapless one, when thou wert born, there came The Fate thrice-blessed and clasped thee in her arms To bless thee with a hero's mighty deeds And wrap thee in the purple of a king, The Fate whose blessings teem with light and might.

Yet there, the other Fate, the bitch of ruin Unspoken and of voiceless death, kept watch; And she led thee away from the blue shore With lilies sown, to the salt marsh of terror And the sheer precipice of fearful trembling!

Nor could thy baby hands grasp more than this, A cheerless tatter from the sacred veil Of thy good mother Fate, the veil embroidered With the star-spangled sky by master hand!

O hapless One, while virgin joy bathes thee Abundant and thy tears are yet a baby's, Something within thee groans, the muffled madness Of fettered murderers, the madness of Lone cells. And while thou showest the calm life Of tame things and of love in thy still nook, Thou breedest fettered wraths and bridled hatreds. Should they burst forth, ruin and wilderness Would reign. O hapless One, the greenest spots Even of thy existence are but full Of pitfalls opened wide and yawning void! No dawning was thy lot; even those boughs Young of thine early years were parched with drought! Whatever white thou touchedst was defiled! And thine old age, if thou couldst bare thy youth, Would shriek with fear and fly from thy youth's face!

A sneering power or a grace divine Mercilessly nailed down thy hands and will, O cowardly, decrepit, idle man, Infirm and hapless, starless night enclosed In a weak child! Death will not come to thee As to the toiling laborer who toils The whole day long, and towards evening, sleep, Even before he lies, in bed to rest, Creeps sweetly upon him and seals his eyes.

Thy death shall be laden with graspless horror Such as one feels who sinned in secrecy And dreads each hour detection of his sin, Trial, death sentence, and the hangman's rope.

O hapless One, would that in thy death struggle Her bosom might still shine before thine eyes, The good Fate's breast, who blessed thy birth with goodness, The Fate whose blessings teem with light and might! Would that thou couldst show her the humble shred Torn from the star-wrought sacred veil of hers And tell her: "See, in the deep darkness smiles Something, a dawn on which I still hold fast!"

O hapless One! Would that the mighty heroes And royal purples and the blessings full Of light and might and all thou knewest not In thy dark empty life could shine upon Thy passing as the lights of distant stars!