ABSTRACT
For publication and other details, see headnote to prec. poem. Take the cloak from his face, and at first Let the corpse do its worst. How he lies in his rights of a man! Death has done all death can. 5 And absorbed in the new life he leads, He recks not, he heeds Nor his wrong nor my vengeance—both strike On his senses alike, And are lost in the solemn and strange 10 Surprise of the change. Ha, what avails death to erase His offence, my disgrace? I would we were boys as of old In the field, by the fold— 15 His outrage, God’s patience, man’s scorn Were so easily borne. I stand here now, he lies in his place— Cover the face.
