Last Betrayal

AND when I heard their voices on the stair,
Shrill as fox-bark above their crying hounds,
And heard the small thunder of their feet, and knew
One wall alone still lay
Between me and this stunted swarm,
I drew my last knife and I vowed to God
I would die first and not go down
Tied like a tame bear in their pygmy chains.

Then the lock shattered and they came,
Flooding through once inviolate doors, and stood
World-deep around me in a crying ring that pressed
Nearer and nearer toward the brittle knife.
Then I —
Searching the wide white ring to know
Who led them here and who betrayed
The soul’s last citadel of pride —
Saw suddenly my own self standing there
Pale-faced and simpering, unashamed,
Dwarf rope and key still dangling from my hand.

And then I knew the bitterness of Christ, and cried,
‘Come, take me, friends! Our little war is done.’
. . . And broke the useless knife across my knee.