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)