For they starve the little frightened child,
Till it weeps both night and day:

And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool,
And gibe the old and gray,

And some grow mad, and all grow bad,

And none a word may say.

Each narrow cell in which we dwell

Is a foul and dark latrine,

And the fetid breath of living Death
Chokes up each grated screen,
And all, but Lust, is turned to dust
In Humanity's machine.

The brackish water that we drink
Creeps with a loathsome slime,
And the bitter bread they weigh in scales
Is full of chalk and lime,

And Sleep will not lie down, but walks
Wild-eyed, and cries to Time.

But though lean Hunger and green Thirst
Like asp with adder fight,

We have little care of prison fare,
For what chills and kills outright
Is that every stone one lifts by day
Becomes one's heart by night.

With midnight always in one's heart,
And twilight in one's cell,

We turn the crank, or tear the rope,
Each in his separate Hell,

And the silence is more awful far

Than the sound of a brazen bell.

And never a human voice comes near

To speak a gentle word:

And the eye that watches through the door

Is pitiless and hard:

And by all forgot, we rot and rot,

With soul and body marred.

And thus we rust Life's iron chain,

Degraded and alone:

And some men curse, and some men weep,
And some men make no moan:

But God's eternal Laws are kind
And break the heart of stone.

And every human heart that breaks,
In prison-cell or yard,

Is as that broken box that gave
Its treasure to the Lord,

And filled the unclean leper's house
With the scent of costliest nard.

Ah! happy they whose hearts can break
And peace of pardon win!

How else may man make straight his plan
And cleanse his soul from Sin?
How else but through a broken heart
May Lord Christ enter in?

And he of the swollen purple throat,
And the stark and staring eyes,
Waits for the holy hands that took
The Thief to Paradise;

And a broken and a contrite heart
The Lord will not despise.

The man in red who reads the Law
Gave him three weeks of life,
Three little weeks in which to heal
His soul of his soul's strife,

And cleanse from every blot of blood
The hand that held the knife.

And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand, The hand that held the steel:

For only blood can wipe out blood,

And only tears can heal:

And the crimson stain that was of Cain

Became Christ's snow-white seal.

VI

In Reading gaol by Reading town
There is a pit of shame,
And in it lies a wretched man

Eaten by teeth of flame,

In a burning winding-sheet he lies,
And his grave has got no name.

And there, till Christ call forth the dead,
In silence let him lie:

No need to waste the foolish tear,
Or heave the windy sigh:

The man had killed the thing he loved,

And so he had to die.

And all men kill the thing they love,

By all let this be heard,

Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,

The coward does it with a kiss,

The brave man with a sword!

Oscar Wilde [1856-1900]

THE BALLAD OF JUDAS ISCARIOT

'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot

Lay in the Field of Blood;
'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot

Beside the body stood.

Black was the earth by night,
And black was the sky;

Black, black were the broken clouds,
Though the red Moon went by.

'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot
Strangled and dead lay there;

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Looked on it in despair.

The breath of the World came and went

Like a sick man's in rest;

Drop by drop on the World's eyes
The dews fell cool and blest.

Then the soul of Judas Iscariot
Did make a gentle moan-
"I will bury underneath the ground
My flesh and blood and bone.

"I will bury deep beneath the soil, Lest mortals look thereon,

And when the wolf and raven come

The body will be gone!

"The stones of the field are sharp as steel, And hard and bold, God wot;

And I must bear my body hence
Until I find a spot!"

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
So grim, and gaunt, and gray,
Raised the body of Judas Iscariot,
And carried it away.

And as he bare it from the field
Its touch was cold as ice,
And the ivory teeth within the jaw
Rattled aloud, like dice.

As the soul of Judas Iscariot

Carried its load with pain,

The Eye of Heaven, like a lantern's eye,
Opened and shut again.

Half he walked, and half he seemed

Lifted on the cold wind;

He did not turn, for chilly hands

Were pushing from behind.

The first place that he came unto
It was the open wold,

And underneath were prickly whins,
And a wind that blew so cold.

The next place that he came unto
It was a stagnant pool,
And when he threw the body in
It floated light as wool.

He drew the body on his back,
And it was dripping chill,

And the next place that he came unto
Was a Cross upon a hill.

A Cross upon the windy hill,
And a Cross on either side,
Three skeletons that swing thereon,
Who had been crucified.

And on the middle cross-bar sat
A white Dove slumbering;

Dim it sat in the dim light,

With its head beneath its wing.

And underneath the middle Cross
A grave yawned wide and vast,
But the soul of Judas Iscariot
Shivered, and glided past.

The fourth place that he came unto
It was the Brig of Dread,
And the great torrents rushing down
Were deep, and swift, and red.

He dared not fling the body in

For fear of faces dim,

And arms were waved in the wild water

To thrust it back to him.