Читать книгу The Lonely Crossing And Other Poems - Louisa Lawson - Страница 12

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There’s blood in the ink of her writing,

The paper is stiffened with tears,

And I with my conscience am fighting,

And striving to quiet my fears.

And these are the words she is saying:

“My life I no longer can bear,

For death I am constantly praying.

Oh, when will God answer my prayer?”

* * * * *

I met her when first the faint dawning

Of womanhood tinted her youth,

She then had no past, like the morning,

For she was all candour and truth.

She knelt at my feet in confession,

And asked me for leading and light;

To right, where was no retrogression,

To cleanse what was spotless and white.

She held me in deep veneration,

She looked on me almost as God,

And gave her sweet life’s conservation

Of love to the vilest that trod.

I taught her that love was the duty

And life of the angels of light,

Then spoiled her sweet spiritual beauty

And turned her away from the right.

I wooed her in delicate fashion,

Then sullied her soul with my lust;

I poisoned her life with my passion,

And murdered her beautiful trust.

And now her sweet spirit is flitting

To where other sweet spirits wait,

While I with soul-lepers am sitting

In torment at hell’s awful gate.