The Monster

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The Monster

" IN place of the heart, a serpent ; 

Rage for the mind's command ; 

An eye aflame with wildness ; 

A weapon in the hand ; 

" A brow with midnight clouded ; 

On the lips a cynic smile 

That tells of a curse unmatchable 

Born of a sin most vile. 

" Of longing, or hope, or virtue, 

No vestige may there be ; 

You, even in vice inhuman 

What can you want of me ? 

" You in its maddest moment 

The Deepest Pit designed, 

Let loose to sow confusion 

In the order of mankind ; 

" Here Hatred found you crawling 

Like vermin, groveling, prone, 

Filled you with blood of others 

And poisoned all your own. 

" Your very thoughts are fiendish 

Smoke of the fires of Hell. 

Weird as you are, how is it 

I seem to know you well ? 

" Why with your wild delirium 

Do you infect my sleep ? 

Why with my daily footstep 

An equal measure keep ? " 

The monster mutely beckons me 

Back with his ghostly hand, 

And dreading his fearful answer 

I heed the grim command. 

" Nay, softly," he says ; " I pray thee, 

Silence thy frightened moan, 

And wipe the sweat from thy forehead 

My kinsman thou, my own! 

" Look at me well, good cousin ; 

Such wert thou fashioned of ! 

Thou, too, wouldst me resemble 

Without that magic Love!" 

(Translated by Nikola Tesla and Robert Underwood Johnson)