has kindly shared the material
from his Robert Buchanan site with readers of the
Late in the gloaming of the year,
I haunt the melancholy Mere;
A Phantom I, where phantoms brood,
In that soul-searching solitude.
Hiding my forehead in the dim
Hem of His robe, I question Him!
XIV. Could God Be Judged
Can I be calm, beholding everywhere
Disease and Anguish busy, early and late?
Can I be silent, nor compassionate
The evils that both Soul and Body bear?
Oh, what have sickly Children done, to share
Thy cup of sorrows? yet their dull, sad pain
Makes the earth awful; — on the tomb's dark stair
Moan Idiots, with no glimmer in the brain.
No shrill Priest with his hangman's cord can beat
Thy mercy into these — ah nay, ah nay!
The Angels Thou hast sent to haunt the street
Are Hunger and Distortion and Decay.
Lord! that mad'st Man, and send'st him foes so fleet,
Who shall judge Thee upon Thy judgment day?
(From Coruisken Sonnets, 1870)
Last modified 26 September 2002