THE WIZARD 365
Stretched out, shivering,
Like one half dead whose feet are warmed,
Shaken, alas ! by unknown fevers,
Trembling from the icy, pointed arrows of
frost,
Hunted, thought, by thee! Unutterable ! Veiled ! Horrid one !
Thou huntsman behind the clouds ! Struck to the ground by thee, Thou mocking eye that gazeth at me from
the dark ! Thus I lie,
Bend, writhe, tortured By all eternal tortures,
Smitten
By thee, cruellest of huntsmen, Thou unknown God . . .
Smite harder!
Smite once more !
Sting, break to pieces this heart !
What meaneth this torturing
With its blunt-toothed arrows?
Why gazest thou again,
Never weary of human pain,
With the malicious lightening eyes of a God?
Thou wilt not kill,
Only torture, torture ?
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