The Ballad of Reading Gaol — Oscar Wilde

I walked with other souls in pain Within another ring And was wondering if the man had done A great or little thing When a voice behind me whispered low ldquo That fellows got to swing rdquo Dear Christ the very prison walls Suddenly seemed to reel And the sky above my head became Like a casque of scorching steel And though I was a soul in pain My pain I could not feel I only knew what hunted thought Quickened his step and why He looked upon the garish day With such a wistful eye The man had killed the thing he loved And so he had to die Yet each man kills the thing he loves By each let this be heard Some do it with a bitter look Some with a flattering word The coward does it with a kiss The brave man with a sword Some kill their love when they are young And some when they are old Some strangle with the hands of Lust Some with the hands of Gold The kindest use a knife because The dead so soon grow cold Some love too little some too long Some sell and others buy Some do the deed with many tears And some without a sigh For each man kills the thing he loves Yet each man does not die