XXI.
Why, in that single glance I had
Of my child's face, . . I tell you all,
I saw a look that made me mad . .
The master's look, that used to fall
On my soul like his lash . . or worse!—
And so, to save it from my curse,
I twisted it round in my shawl.
XXII.
And he moaned and trembled from foot to head,
He shivered from head to foot;
Till, after a time, he lay instead
Too suddenly still and mute.
I felt beside a stiffening cold . .
I dared to lift up just a fold, . .
As in lifting a leaf of the mango-fruit.
XXIII.
But my fruit . . ha, ha!—there, had been
(I laugh to think on't at this hour! . .)
Your fine white angels, who have seen
Nearest the secret of God's power, . .
And plucked my fruit to make them wine,
And sucked the soul of that child of mine,
As the humming-bird sucks the soul of the flower.
XXIV.
Ha, ha, for the trick of the angels white!
They freed the white child's spirit so.
I said not a word, but, day and night,
I carried the body to and fro;
