Poem “Hung” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Poems of reflection

Download PDF

American Literature – American Poetry – Ella Wheeler Wilcox – Poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox – Poems of reflection
< < < Daft
When I Am Dead > > >

Hung

Nine o’clock, and the sun shines as yellow and warm,
As though ’twere a fete day. I wish it would storm:
   Wish the thunder would crash,
   And the red lightning flash,
And lap the black clouds, with its serpentine tongue.
The day is too calm, for a man to be hung.
   Hung! ugh, what a word!
The most heartless and horrible ear ever heard.

He has murdered, and plundered, and robbed, so “they say”;
Been the scourge of the country, for many a day.
   He was lawless and wild;
   Man, woman, or child
Met no mercy, no pity, if found in his path;
He was worse than a beast of the woods, in his wrath.
   And yet–to be hung,
   Oh, my God! to be swung
By the neck to, and fro, for the rabble to see–
   The thought sickens me.

Thirty minutes past nine. How the time hurries by,
But a half hour remains, at ten he will die.
   Die? No! he’ll be killed!
   For God never willed
   Men should die in this way.
“Vengeance is mine,” He saith, “I will repay.”
   Yet what could be done
   With this wild, lawless one!
No prison could hold him, and so–he must swing,
   It’s a horrible thing!

Outcast, Desperado, Fiend, Knave; all of these
And more. But call him whatever you please,
   I cannot forget
   He’s a mortal man yet:
That he once was a babe, and was hushed into rest,
And fondled and pressed, to a woman’s warm breast.
   Was sung to, and rocked,
   And when he first walked
With his weak little feet, he was petted, and told
He was “mamma’s own pet, worth his whole weight in gold.”
   And this is the end
Of a God-given life. Just think of it, friend!

Hark! hear you that chime? ‘Tis the clock striking ten.
The dread weight falls down, with a sound like “Amen.”
Does murder pay murder? do two wrongs make a right?
   Oh, that horrible sight!
I am shut in my room, and have covered my face,
But the dread scene has followed me into this place.
   I see that strange thing,
   Like a clock pendulum swing
To and fro, in the air, back and forth, to and fro.
   One moment ago
‘Twas a man, in God’s image! now hide it, kind grave.
What a terrible end, to the life that God gave.

< < < Daft
When I Am Dead > > >

American Literature – American Poetry – Ella Wheeler Wilcox – Poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox – Poems of reflection

If you liked this article, subscribe , put likes, write comments!

Share on social networks

Visit us on Facebook or Twitter

Check out Our Latest Posts

Poems of reflection

Hung

Leave a comment Cancel reply