MY friends, the deed's resolved -- that with all haste I will kill my children and set forth from Corinth, Not, hesitating here, yield up my sons For other and less loving hands to murder. Die they must, either way; and since they must, Then I will slay them that did bring them forth. Come steel thyself, my heart. What help to linger Shrinking to do that dreadful thing thou must? The sword, O miserable hand, the sword -- Take it and onward to that bitter race Thy feet must run! No weakening now, no thought Of thy sons, how dear they are, how thou didst once Give life to them. For this one little day Forget thy babes, and, after, weep for them. For though thou slay them, yet dear-loved were they, Thine own, -- and I a miserable woman. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ATELIER CEZANNE by CLARENCE MAJOR AN INVITE TO ETERNITY by JOHN CLARE THE WHITE WOMEN by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE ON AN INVITATION TO THE UNITED STATES by THOMAS HARDY MY LOST YOUTH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |