I, THE scourge-wielder, balance-wrecker, Smiter with whips and swords; I, hater of the breakers of the law; I, legalist, inexorable and bitter, Driving the jury to hang the madman, Barry Holden, Was made as one dead by light too bright for eyes, And woke to face a Truth with bloody brow: Steel forceps fumbled by a doctor's hand Against my boy's head as he entered life Made him an idiot. I turned to books of science To care for him. That's how the world of those whose minds are sick Became my work in life, and all my world. Poor ruined boy! You were, at last, the potter And I in all my deeds of charity The vessels of your hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 52 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE: THE POWER OF MUSIC by SAMUEL LISLE THE AEOLIAN HARP; AT THE SURF INN by HERMAN MELVILLE THE RUBAIYAT, 1889 EDITION: 19 by OMAR KHAYYAM THE SUN'S TRAVELS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON A PRELUDE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |