THE hopes that allured me
To cope with the worst,
At length have secured me
The tortures accurst,
Of fever and grief,
And frenzy—in brief
Ills—ills from which Death is the only relief.
But Titan-like lieth
My soul in her chains—
Hourly she sigheth,
The answer she gains,
But adds night and day
To pain and dismay—
’Tis the scream of the vulture despair at his prey.
Other works by Joseph Skipsey...
