Flashed from the walls above, and the mirrors
And glasses behind the bar were lighted
In some strange way, and into my spirit
A thousand shafts of terrible fire
Burned like death, and I fell. The story
Of what came then, you know.

But tell me,
What does the whole thing mean? What are we, --
Slaves of an awful ignorance? puppets
Pulled by a fiend? or gods, without knowing it?
Do we shut from ourselves our own salvation, --
Or what do we do! I tell you, Dominie,
There are times in the lives of us poor devils
When heaven and hell get mixed. Though conscience
May come like a whisper of Christ to warn us
Away from our sins, it is lost or laughed at, --
And then we fall. And for all who have fallen --
Even for him -- I hold no malice,
Nor much compassion: a mightier mercy
Than mine must shrive him. -- And I -- I am going
Into the light? -- or into the darkness?
Why do I sit through these sickening hours,
And hope? Good God! are they hours? -- hours?
Yes! I am done with days. And to-morrow --
We two may meet! To-morrow! -- To-morrow! . . .