Page:Demeter and other poems (IA demeterotherpoem00tennrich).pdf/164

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
150
ROMNEY'S REMORSE
Blurr’d like a landskip in a ruffled pool,—Not one stroke firm. This Art, that harlot-likeSeduced me from you, leaves me harlot-like,Who love her still, and whimper, impotentTo win her back before I die—and then—Then, in the loud world’s bastard judgment-day,One truth will damn me with the mindless mob,Who feel no touch of my temptation, moreThan[errata 1] all the myriad lies, that blacken roundThe corpse of every man that gains a name;‘This model husband, this fine Artist’! Fool,What matters? Six foot deep of burial mouldWill dull their comments! Ay, but when the shoutOf His descending peals from Heaven, and throbsThro’ earth, and all her graves, if He should ask‘Why left you wife and children? for my sake,According to my word?’ and I replied

Errata

  1. ↑ Original: More than was amended to Than: detail
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.