My Lattice and Other Poems

by Frederick George Scott


 

THE STING OF DEATH


 

“IS Sin, then, fair?
    Nay, love, come now
Put back the hair
    From his sunny brow;
See, here, blood-red
5
Across his head
A brand is set,
The word—“Regret.”

“Is Sin so fleet
    That while he stays

10
Our hands and feet
    May go his ways?”
Nay, love, his breath
Clings round like death,
He slakes desire
15
With liquid fire.

“Is Sin Death’s sting?”
    Ay, sure he is,
His golden wing
    Darkens man’s bliss;

20
And when Death comes,
Sin sits and hums
A chaunt of fears
Into man’s ears.

“How slayeth Sin?”

25
    First, God is hid,
And the heart within
    By its own self chid;
Then the maddened brain
Is scourged by pain
30
To sin as before
And more and more,
For evermore.