There's a regret br So grinding, so immitigably sad, br Remorse thereby feels tolerant, even glad. ... br Do you not know it yet? br br For deeds undone br Rnakle and snarl and hunger for their due, br Till there seems naught so despicable as you br In all the grin o' the sun. br br Like an old shoe br The sea spurns and the land abhors, you lie br About the beach of Time, till by and by br Death, that derides you too -- br br Death, as he goes br His ragman's round, espies you, where you stray, br With half-an-eye, and kicks you out of his way br And then -- and then, who knows br br But the kind Grave br Turns on you, and you feel the convict Worm, br In that black bridewell working out his term, br Hanker and grope and crave? br br "Poor fool that might -- br That might, yet would not, dared not, let this be, br Think of it, here and thus made over to me br In the implacable night!" br br And writhing, fain br And like a triumphing lover, he shall take, br His fill where no high memory lives to make br His obscene victory vain.