`Is Sin, then, fair?' <br />Nay, love, come now, <br />Put back the hair <br />From his sunny brow; <br />See, here, blood-red <br />Across his head <br />A brand is set, <br />The word -- `Regret.' <br /> <br />`Is Sin so fleet <br />That while he stays, <br />Our hands and feet <br />May go his ways?' <br />Nay, love, his breath <br />Clings round like death, <br />He slakes desire <br />With liquid fire. <br /> <br />`Is Sin Death's sting?' <br />Ay, sure he is, <br />His golden wing <br />Darkens man's bliss; <br />And when Death comes, <br />Sin sits and hums <br />A chaunt of fears <br />Into man's ears. <br /> <br />`How slayeth Sin?' <br />First, God is hid, <br />And the heart within <br />By its own self chid; <br />Then the maddened brain <br />Is scourged by pain <br />To sin as before <br />And more and more, <br />For evermore.<br /><br />Frederick George Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sting-of-death/
