Wild Knight and Other Poems — Thou Shalt Not Kill

THOU SHALT NOT KILL

I had grown weary of him; of his breath And hands and features I was sick to death.

Each day I heard the same dull voice and tread;

I did not hate him: but I wished him dead.

And he must with his blank face fill my life-- Then my brain blackened; and I snatched a knife.

But ere I struck, my soul's grey deserts through A voice cried, 'Know at least what thing you do.'

'This is a common man: knowest thou, O soul, What this thing is?

somewhere where seasons roll There is some living thing for whom this man Is as seven heavens girt into a span, For some one soul you take the world away-- Now know you well your deed and purpose.

Slay!'

Then I cast down the knife upon the ground And saw that mean man for one moment crowned.

I turned and laughed: for there was no one by-- The man that I had sought to slay was I.