150
ROMNEY'S REMORSE
Blurr’d like a landskip in a ruffled pool,—
Not one stroke firm. This Art, that harlot-like
Seduced me from you, leaves me harlot-like,
Who love her still, and whimper, impotent
To 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, more
Than[errata 1] all the myriad lies, that blacken round
The corpse of every man that gains a name;
‘This model husband, this fine Artist’! Fool,
What matters? Six foot deep of burial mould
Will dull their comments! Ay, but when the shout
Of His descending peals from Heaven, and throbs
Thro’ 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
Not one stroke firm. This Art, that harlot-like
Seduced me from you, leaves me harlot-like,
Who love her still, and whimper, impotent
To 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, more
Than[errata 1] all the myriad lies, that blacken round
The corpse of every man that gains a name;
‘This model husband, this fine Artist’! Fool,
What matters? Six foot deep of burial mould
Will dull their comments! Ay, but when the shout
Of His descending peals from Heaven, and throbs
Thro’ 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
