The Poetry Corner

The Body To The Soul

By Pamela S. Vining, (J. C. Yule)

RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO AN OVERWORKED STUDENT. O tyrant soul of mine, What's the use Of this never-ceasing toil, Of this struggle, this turmoil, This abuse Of the body and the brain, Of this labor and this pain, Of this never-ceasing strain On the cords that bind us twain Each to each? O tyrant soul of mine, Is it well Thus to waste and wear away The poor, fragile walls of clay Where you dwell? Was I made your slave to be - I the abject, you the free, That you task me ceaselessly? - Tyrant soul, come, answer me, Is it well? O tyrant soul of mine, Don't you know That in slow, but sure decay, I am wasting day by day, While you grow None the better for the strain On my nerves and on my brain, For my head's incessant pain, And my sick heart's longings vain For repose? O tyrant soul of mine, God, the good, Joined together you and me In a wondrous unity, That we should Work together,-not that I, You degrade and stupefy, Nor that you His laws defy By maltreating ceaselessly Hapless me! O tyrant soul of mine, By and by, Weary of your cruel reign, Quite worn out with toil and pain, I shall die Then, when I have passed away, And you're asked whose hand did slay Your companion of the clay, Much I wonder what you'll say, Soul of mine!