Agnes Lee

I’VE won the race.

Young man, I’m new!

Old Sallow-face,

Good luck to you!

I’ve turned about,

And paid for sin.

And you come out,

As I go in.

Ten years! but mark,

I am free, free!

Ten years of dark

Shall gather me.

My wife—long-while

She wept her pain.

She cannot smile;

She weeps again.

My little one

Shall know my call.

Child is there none,

For sin grows tall.

Now who are you,

Spar of hell’s flood?

And who, and who,

But your own blood?