Our words were spoken, and our hate found tongue; But, through the great bright flame of Anger, broke Livid and serpentine Flickerings of malice. Like to snakes they stung. Where righteous wrath had burned us pure, we spoke Instead the little things—small things and mean. Oh, strike out from the shoulder, or forget! That is the man's way; but this blackening bile,— That rots the heart of right Though right be thine,—keeps wounds forever wet And festering, with distilments mixed by guile, Till a man's soul turns reptile in its spite. Frankly affront offense, or grant "Forgiven!" God, for how many an issue we implore Just lightnings! Then it breaks— The culminating storm-cloud—shaming Heaven, Not with the lion's bold and forthright roar, But with the hissing of a thousand snakes! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BIRTHDAY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER TO A BLUEBELL by EMILY JANE BRONTE THE CUPBOARD by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE BROWN THRUSH by LUCY LARCOM ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 16. TO CALEB HARDINGE, M.D. by MARK AKENSIDE LINES TO BE SPOKEN BY THOMAS DENMAN.....WHEN FOUR YEARS OLD by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |