A Dark Career
Call it misfortune, crime, or what
You will—his presence was a blot
Where all was bright and fair—
A blot that told its darksome tale
And left its mark a blighting trail
Behind him everywhere.
* * *
You will—his presence was a blot
Where all was bright and fair—
A blot that told its darksome tale
And left its mark a blighting trail
Behind him everywhere.
* * *
He stood by the Atlantic’s shore,
And crossed the azure main,
And even the sea, so blue before,
About his wake grew dark and bore
The semblance of a stain.
And crossed the azure main,
And even the sea, so blue before,
About his wake grew dark and bore
The semblance of a stain.
On English soil he scarcely more
Than paused his breath to gain;
But on that fair historic shore
There seemed to gather, as before,
A darkness in his train.
Than paused his breath to gain;
But on that fair historic shore
There seemed to gather, as before,
A darkness in his train.
Through sunny France, across the line
To Germany, and up the Rhine
To Switzerland he came;
Then o’er the snowy Alpine height,
To leave a stain as black as night
On Italy’s fair name.
To Germany, and up the Rhine
To Switzerland he came;
Then o’er the snowy Alpine height,
To leave a stain as black as night
On Italy’s fair name.
From Italy he crossed the blue,
And hurried on as if he knew
His journey’s end he neared.
On Darkest Africa he threw
A shade of even darker hue,
Till in the sands of Timbuctoo
His record disappeared.
* * *
And hurried on as if he knew
His journey’s end he neared.
On Darkest Africa he threw
A shade of even darker hue,
Till in the sands of Timbuctoo
His record disappeared.
* * *
Only an inkstand’s overflow,
O Bumblebee! remains to show
The source of your mishap;
But though you’ve flown my ken beyond,
The foot-notes of your tour du monde
Still decorate my map.
O Bumblebee! remains to show
The source of your mishap;
But though you’ve flown my ken beyond,
The foot-notes of your tour du monde
Still decorate my map.