Ballad of Reading Gaol | Page 6

each foot,?Wrapt in a sheet of flame!
And all the while the burning lime?Eats flesh and bone away,?It eats the brittle bone by night,?And the soft flesh by the day,?It eats the flesh and bones by turns,?But it eats the heart alway.?___?For three long years they will not sow?Or root or seedling there:?For three long years the unblessed spot?Will sterile be and bare,?And look upon the wondering sky?With unreproachful stare.
They think a murderer's heart would taint?Each simple seed they sow.?It is not true! God's kindly earth?Is kindlier than men know,?And the red rose would but blow more red,?The white rose whiter blow.
Out of his mouth a red, red rose!?Out of his heart a white!?For who can say by what strange way,?Christ brings his will to light,?Since the barren staff the pilgrim bore?Bloomed in the great Pope's sight?
But neither milk-white rose nor red?May bloom in prison air;?The shard, the pebble, and the flint,?Are what they give us there:?For flowers have been known to heal?A common man's despair.
So never will wine-red rose or white,?Petal by petal, fall?On that stretch of mud and sand that lies?By the hideous prison-wall,?To tell the men who tramp the yard?That God's Son died for all.
Yet though the hideous prison-wall?Still hems him round and round,?And a spirit man not walk by night?That is with fetters bound,?And a spirit may not weep that lies?In such unholy ground,
He is at peace--this wretched man--?At peace, or will be soon:?There is no thing to make him mad,?Nor does Terror walk at noon,?For the lampless Earth in which he lies?Has neither Sun nor Moon.?___?They hanged him as a beast is hanged:?They did not even toll?A reguiem that might have brought?Rest to his startled soul,?But hurriedly they took him out,?And hid him in a hole.
They stripped him of his canvas clothes,?And gave him to the flies;?They mocked the swollen purple throat?And the stark and staring eyes:?And with laughter loud they heaped the shroud?In which their convict lies.
The Chaplain would not kneel to pray?By his dishonored grave:?Nor mark it with that blessed Cross?That Christ for sinners gave,?Because the man was one of those?Whom Christ came down to save.
Yet all is well; he has but passed?To Life's appointed bourne:?And alien tears will fill for him?Pity's long-broken urn,?For his mourner will be outcast men,?And outcasts always mourn.
V.
I know not whether Laws be right,?Or whether Laws be wrong;?All that we know who lie in goal?Is that the wall is strong;?And that each day is like a year,?A year whose days are long.
But this I know, that every Law?That men have made for Man,?Since first Man took his brother's life,?And the sad world began,?But straws the wheat and saves the chaff?With a most evil fan.
This too I know--and wise it were?If each could know the same--?That every prison that men build?Is built with bricks of shame,?And bound with bars lest Christ should see?How men their brothers maim.
With bars they blur the gracious moon,?And blind the goodly sun:?And they do well to hide their Hell,?For in it things are done?That Son of God nor son of Man?Ever should look upon!?___?The vilest deeds like poison weeds?Bloom well in prison-air:?It is only what is good in Man?That wastes and withers there:?Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,?And the Warder is Despair
For they starve the little frightened child?Till it weeps both night and day:?And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool,?And gibe the old and grey,?And some grow mad, and all grow bad,?And none a word may say.
Each narrow cell in which we dwell?Is foul and dark latrine,?And the fetid breath of living Death?Chokes up each grated screen,?And all, but Lust, is turned to dust?In Humanity's machine.
The brackish water that we drink?Creeps with a loathsome slime,?And the bitter bread they weigh in scales?Is full of chalk and lime,?And Sleep will not lie down, but walks?Wild-eyed and cries to Time.?___?But though lean Hunger and green Thirst?Like asp with adder fight,?We have little care of prison fare,?For what chills and kills outright?Is that every stone one lifts by day?Becomes one's heart by night.
With midnight always in one's heart,?And twilight in one's cell,?We turn the crank, or tear the rope,?Each in his separate Hell,?And the silence is more awful far?Than the sound of a brazen bell.
And never a human voice comes near?To speak a gentle word:?And the eye that watches through the door?Is pitiless and hard:?And by all forgot, we rot and rot,?With soul and body marred.
And thus we rust Life's iron chain?Degraded and alone:?And some men curse, and some men weep,?And some men make no moan:?But God's eternal Laws are kind?And break the heart of stone.?___?And every human heart that breaks,?In prison-cell or yard,?Is as that broken box that gave?Its treasure to the Lord,?And filled the unclean leper's house?With the scent of costliest nard.
Ah! happy day they whose hearts can break?And peace of pardon win!?How else