I followed in an awful dream,
With no desire, or hope, or plan,
The winding of a silent stream
That through a shadowy woodland ran.
No voice of leaves above I heard,
No voice of gladness or distress,
There was no song from any bird
To stir that dreadful silentness.
And as that gloomy path I trod,
I found within a place remote
The body of a fair dead God
With marks of fingers on his throat.
Who slew that Being all divine,
And from his eyes the life-light stole?
Ah, me the finger-marks were mine,
And mine the murder of my soul!
First published in The Bulletin, 23 February 1901
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library
See also.
With no desire, or hope, or plan,
The winding of a silent stream
That through a shadowy woodland ran.
No voice of leaves above I heard,
No voice of gladness or distress,
There was no song from any bird
To stir that dreadful silentness.
And as that gloomy path I trod,
I found within a place remote
The body of a fair dead God
With marks of fingers on his throat.
Who slew that Being all divine,
And from his eyes the life-light stole?
Ah, me the finger-marks were mine,
And mine the murder of my soul!
First published in The Bulletin, 23 February 1901
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library
See also.
