Page:Poems Terry, 1861.djvu/168

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164
Cain.
I held up the staff before me.
Down it crashed on the gentle head.
One live look of wondering sorrow,
One sharp quiver—that was dead.

Thou! Thou gavest me a brother—
Gave me a life to cast away—
Hast Thou in heaven such another?
Hast Thou in heaven a sword to slay?

Hasten Thou—"Where is thy brother?"
Voice my curst lips dare not name.
Hasten! write with thy fiery finger
On my forehead the murderer's shame.

I am doomed—alone forever.
Yet, so long as the slow years part,
Thou shalt brand new Cains with curses,
Not on the forehead, but in the heart!