Theres A Regret

There's a

So grinding, so immitigably sad,

Remorse thereby feels tolerant, even glad.…Do you not know it yet?

For deeds

Rnakle and snarl and hunger for their due,

Till there seems naught so despicable as

In all the grin o' the sun.

Like an old

The sea spurns and the land abhors, you

About the beach of Time, till by and

Death, that derides you too —Death, as he

His ragman's round, espies you, where you stray,

With half-an-eye, and kicks you out of his

And then — and then, who

But the kind

Turns on you, and you feel the convict Worm,

In that black bridewell working out his term,

Hanker and grope and crave?"Poor fool that might —That might, yet would not, dared not, let this be,

Think of it, here and thus made over to

In the implacable night!"And writhing,

And like a triumphing lover, he shall take,

His fill where no high memory lives to

His obscene victory vain.