Poems (Sill)/The Deserter

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THE DESERTER.
BLINDEST and prayer, and most frantic Clutching at a senseless boon,His that begs, in mad despair, Death to come;—he comes so soon!
Like a reveler that strains Lip and throat to drink it up—The last ruby that remains, One red droplet in the cup.
Like a child that, sullen, mute, Sulking spurns, with chin on breast,Of the Tree of Life a fruit, His gift of whom he is the guest.
Outcast on the thither shore, Open scorn to him shall giveSouls that heavier burdens bore:— "See the wretch that dared not live!"
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