The year was dying, and the day
Was almost dead;
The West, beneath a sombre gray,
Was sombre red.
The gravestones in the ghostly light,
'Mid trees half bare,
Seemed phantoms, clothed in glimmering white,
That haunted there.
I stood beside the grave of one,
Who, here in life,
Had wronged my home; who had undone
My child and wife.
I stood beside his grave until
The moon came up--
As if the dark, unhallowed hill
Lifted a cup.
No stone was there to mark his grave,
No flower to grace--
'T was meet that weeds alone should wave
In such a place.
I stood beside his grave until
The stars swam high,
And all the night was iron still
From sky to sky.
What cared I if strange eyes seemed bright
Within the gloom!
If, evil blue, a wandering light
Burnt by each tomb!
Or that each crookèd thorn-tree seemed
A witch-hag cloaked!
Or that the owl above me screamed,
The raven croaked!
For I had cursed him when the day
Was sullen red;
Had cursed him when the West was gray,
And day was dead;
And now when night made dark the pole,
Both soon and late
I cursed his body, yea, and soul,
With the hate of hate.
Once in my soul I seemed to hear
A low voice say,--
_'T were better to forgive,--and fear
Thy God,--and pray._
I laughed; and from pale lips of stone
On sculptured tombs
A mocking laugh replied alone
Deep in the glooms.
And then I felt, I felt--as if
Some force should seize
The body; and its limbs stretch stiff,
And, fastening, freeze
Down, downward deeper than the knees
Into the earth--
While still among the twisted trees
That voice made mirth.
And in my Soul was fear, despair,--
Like lost ones feel,
When knotted in their pitch-stiff hair,
They feel the steel
Of devils' forks lift up, through sleet
Of hell's slant fire,
Then plunge,--as white from head to feet
I grew entire.
A voice without me, yet within,
As still as frost,
Intoned: _Thy sin is thrice a sin,
Thrice art thou lost.
Behold, how God would punish thee!
For this thy crime--
Thy crime of hate and blasphemy--
Through endless time!_
_O'er him, whom thou wouldst not forgive,
Record what good
He did on earth! and let him live
Loved, understood!
Be memory thine of all the worst
He did thine own!_
There at the head of him I cursed
I stood--a stone.
