by Eugene Lee-Hamilton
There is a story in a Spanish book,
About a noisy reveller, who, one night,
Returning home with others, saw a light
Shine from a window, and climbed up to look;
And saw, within the room, hanged to a hook,
His own self-strangled self, grim, rigid, white;
And, stricken sober by that livid sight,
Feasting his eyes, in wordless horror shook.
Has any man a fancy to look in,
And see as through a window, in the Past,
His nobler self, self-choked with coils of sin,
Or sloth, or folly?—round the throat whipped fast,
The nooses give the face a stiffened grin:
'Tis but thyself; look well; why be aghast?
Last updated January 14, 2019