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.
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?
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.
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!
Yet, so long as the slow years part,
Thou shalt brand new Cains with curses,
Not on the forehead, but in the heart!
