Identities

I sat alone in the arrased room Of Sin, wrapped pale in her winding shroud; The night was stricken with glare and gloom, And the wailing wind was loud.

I heard the gallop of one who rode Like a rushing leaf on the wind that lisps; The night with the speed of her steed was sowed With streaming will-o’-the-wisps.

And I said to myself, “’Tis a long-lost Shame, Who rides to my house through the night and rain! She will blaze in the blackness a face of flame When she opens the door again!”

I thought of the blame on her lips and brow; And stared at the door she must enter in-- To sear my soul with her eyes and bow My heart by the corpse of Sin.

As hushed as the mansion of death was night, When, dark as a sob of the storm, she came-- But her face, like beautiful Sin’s, was white, And her face and Sin’s--the same!