Read "Death Within Death" by Edwina Stanton Babcock online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
Thou wilt not smite him, Israfel? / Prone on his little couch he lies, / With the death-shadow in his eyes. / He thirsts, for what, I cannot tell. / Thou wilt not smite him, Israfel?
Thou must not smite him, Israfel. / For all his race throbs in his fame, / The sole hope of a noble name; / That small hand like a tinted shell / Holds high tradition, Israfel.
Thou canst not smite him, Israfel. / He turns his asking eyes on me. / I am his sun and moon and sea; / My life tides in his life-tides swell. / Thou canst not smite him, Israfel.
Since thou hast smitten, Israfel, / Know this, thy sword so bitter keen / Destroys a thing that might have been; / Yet, smiting him, it was as well / To kill my Soul, thou Israfel!