HATE!

[NGONGE]

I had a bitter enemy,

His heart to hate he gave,

And when I died he swore that he

Would dance upon my grave;

That he would leap and laugh because

A livid corpse was I,

And that's the reason why I was

In no great haste to die.

 

And then - such is the quirk of fate,

One day with joy I read,

Despite his vitalizing hate

My enemy was dead.

Maybe the poison in his heart

Had helped to haste his doom:

He was not spared till I depart

To spit upon my tomb.

 

The other day I chanced to go

To where he lies alone.

'Tis easy to forgive a foe

When he is dead and gone. . . .

Poor devil! Now his day is done,

(Though bright it was and brave,)

Yet I am happy there is none

To dance upon my grave.

Robert Service