"We started home. Before we reached that clump of woods I asked her If she would marry me. She laughed at me. I asked her if she loved that other man. She said you are a silly boy, and laughed. And then I asked her if she'd marry me, And if she would not, why she would not do it. We came up to the woods and she was silent, I could not make her speak. I stopped the horse. She sat all quiet, I could see her face Under the brilliance of the moon. I saw A thin smile on her face--and then I struck her, And from the floor grabbed up the iron wrench, And struck her, took her out and laid her down, And did what was too horrible, they say, To do and keep my life. To finish up I reached back for the iron wrench, first felt Her breast to find her heart, no use of wrench, She was already dead. I took the spade, Scraped off the leaves between two trees and dug, And buried her and said: 'My Chariclea No man shall have you.' Then I drove till morning, And after some days reached Missouri, where They caught me." So Fred Taylor told me all, Filled in the full confession that he made, And which they used in court, with looks and words, Scarce to be reproduced; but to the last He said the mathematics of his birth Accounted for his deed. Is it not true? If you resolved the question that the jury Resolved, did he know right from wrong, did he Know what he did, the jury answered truly To give the rope to him. Or if you say These mathematics may be true, and still A man like that is better out of way, And saying so become the very spirit, And reason which slew Gertrude, disregarding The devil of heredity which clutched him, As he put by the reason we obey, It may be well enough, I do not know. Now for last night before this morning fixed To swing him off. His lawyers went to see The governor to win reprieval, perhaps A commutation. I could see his eyes Had two lights in them; one was like a lantern With the globe greased, which showed he could not see Himself in death tomorrow--what is that In the soul that cannot see itself in death? No to-morrow, continuation, the wall, the end! And yet this very smear upon the globe Was death's half fleshless hand which rubbed across His senses and his hope. The other light Was weirdly bright for terror, expectation Of good news from the governor.