Extract from "Abel"

From these pure and happy places,
Outcast, striding forth alone;
Mournful eyes of all the ages
Turning backward to his own.
Striding forth alone, for ever, —
Burning brow, convulsive breath,
And the mark of God upon him,
Strange, mysterious mark of death.
Death, — relentless, stern intruder;
Never, in the years before,
Had its chill and pallid presence
Passed within life's iron door.
Death, — from out the pregnant future
Rise its tones of fear and pain,
Voices from the grave of Abel,
Echoes of the curse of Cain.