PASSION'S HOUNDS
With mighty leaps and bounds,
I followed Passion's hounds,
My hot blood had its day;
Lust, Gluttony, and Drink,
I chased to Hell's black brink,
Both night and day.
I ate like three strong men,
I drank enough for ten,
Each hour must have its glass
Yes, Drink and Gluttony
Have starved more brains, say I,
Than Hunger has.
And now, when I grow old,
And my slow blood is cold,
And feeble is my breath--
I'm followed by those hounds,
Whose mighty leaps and bounds
Hunt me to death.
THE TRUTH
Since I have seen a bird one day,
His head pecked more than half away;
That hopped about, with but one eye,
Ready to fight again, and die--
Ofttimes since then their private lives
Have spoilt that joy their music gives.
So, when I see this robin now,
Like a red apple on the bough,
And question why he sings so strong,
For love, or for the love of song;
Or sings, maybe, for that sweet rill
Whose silver tongue is never still--
Ah, now there comes this thought unkind,
Born of the knowledge in my mind:
He sings in triumph that last night
He killed his father in a fight;
And now he'll take his mother's blood--
The last strong rival for his food.
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