Pallid, mis-shapen he stands. The World's grimed thumb, Now hooked securely in his matted hair, Has haled him struggling from his poisonous slum And flung him, mute as fish, close-netted there. His bloodless hands entalon that iron rail. He gloats in beastlike trance. His settling eyes From staring face to face rove on -- and quail. Justice for carrion pants; and these the flies. Voice after voice in smooth impartial drone Erects horrific in his darkening brain A timber framework, where agape, alone, Bright life will kiss good-bye the cheek of Cain. Sudden like wolf he cries; and sweats to see When howls man's soul, it howls inaudibly. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PSALM 104: THE MAJESTY AND MERCY OF GOD by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THREE STEPS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE TREE ACROSS THE ROAD by ELIZABETH KELTY BEITEL THE GOOD COUNSEL by WILLIAM ROSE BENET FRAGMENT by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN RECOLLECTINS OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE IDLER'S CALENDAR; MAY: THE LONDON SEASON by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |