Pallid, mis-shapen he stands. The World's grimed thumb, Now hooked securely in his matted hair, Has haled him struggling from his poisonous slum And flung him, mute as fish, close-netted there. His bloodless hands entalon that iron rail. He gloats in beastlike trance. His settling eyes From staring face to face rove on -- and quail. Justice for carrion pants; and these the flies. Voice after voice in smooth impartial drone Erects horrific in his darkening brain A timber framework, where agape, alone, Bright life will kiss good-bye the cheek of Cain. Sudden like wolf he cries; and sweats to see When howls man's soul, it howls inaudibly. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE BALCONY by PAUL VERLAINE SONNET FOR A PICTURE by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE WHITE MOMENTS by KATHARINE LEE BATES A PLEA FOR FLOOD IRESON by CHARLES TIMOTHY BROOKS FAIRY WINE by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |