18. The Liquid Dagger
O CRUEL fate. Where now is death not found?
What licence is not yours when waters wound?
Where the gate drips hard by Vipsania's Hall,
And from the slippery stones the raindrops fall,
On a boy's throat as he passed by beneath
The frozen water fell—and brought him death:
A weighted dagger; then, its fell task done,
In his warm flesh it melted, and was gone.
What licence is not yours when waters wound?
Where the gate drips hard by Vipsania's Hall,
And from the slippery stones the raindrops fall,
On a boy's throat as he passed by beneath
The frozen water fell—and brought him death:
A weighted dagger; then, its fell task done,
In his warm flesh it melted, and was gone.
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