As long as the blade has never Yet pierced this brain, This fat and green-white package Of stagnant vapors, (Ah! But he ought to cut his lips His ears, his nose off, His belly too! and sacrifice- O marvelous!-both legs!) But no, I really think Till over his head the blade, Over his flank the stones, Over his gut the flame, Have not triumphed, The troublesome child, the feeble fool, Will not for an instant Cease his tricks, And like the Rocky Mountain lion Will leave his stench behind. But grant, O God, that when he dies One prayer should rise! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WASHING-DAY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD MY FRIEND by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE CHILD AN' THE MOWERS by WILLIAM BARNES |