290 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
To be self-executioner,
Sure that the guilty will invent
Their own severest punishment,
And that no retribution he shall lack
Who is but left to find the rod for his own back.
��Thou restless one, begone, and sleep In desert wild or forest deep ! In my heart why wilt thou lie, Like a worm that will not die ? Why vex my unrefreshing slumber ? Nightly thou my faults dost number ; And, if I bid thee come no more. Thou countest plainer than before.
Thou dost even creep into the house of mirth,
Hover unwelcome round the social hearth ;
Oft in laughter wilt thou wail,
Making the rosy cheek turn pale,
And the affrighted soul wilt mock
In the ticking of the clock, —
Wilt in embers, while they die,
From the ashes seem to sigh.
Ever present, though unsought.
Thou hauntest each most secret thought,
Breaking with these harsh words our peace :
"Thou and thine evil soon must cease."
Even at the feast, in flowing bowl.
Thou dost appall the guilty soul, —
Wilt join the dance with noiseless tread,
And, with dull sighs and meanings dread.
Wilt mingle with the music's sweetest breath.
And change the gayest notes to the deep wail of death,
Bid lights burn blue, ghosts dance upon the wall.
And curtain every window with a pall.
�� �
