‘Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch

‘Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch,

That nearer, every Day,

Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel

Until the Agony

Toyed coolly with the final inch

Of your delirious Hem—

And you dropt, lost,

When something broke—

And let you from a Dream—

As if a Goblin with a Gauge—

Kept measuring the Hours—

Until you felt your Second

Weigh, helpless, in his Paws—

And not a Sinew—stirred—could help,

And sense was setting numb—

When God—remembered—and the Fiend

Let go, then, Overcome—

As if your Sentence stood—pronounced—

And you were frozen led

From Dungeon’s luxury of Doubt

To Gibbets, and the Dead—

And when the Film had stitched your eyes

A Creature gasped “Reprieve”!

Which Anguish was the utterest—then—

To perish, or to live?