Complete Prose Works: Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My Fancy · Walt Whitman
Chapter 1
Chapter 4 of 6 · 1 min read
Of olden time, when it came to pass That the beautiful god, Jesus, should finish his work on earth, Then went Judas, and sold the divine youth, And took pay for his body.
Curs'd was the deed, even before the sweat of the clutching hand grew dry; And darkness frown'd upon the seller of the like of God, Where, as though earth lifted her breast to throw him from her, and heaven refused him, He hung in the air, self-slaughter'd.
The cycles, with their long shadows, have stalk'd silently forward, Since those ancient days—many a pouch enwrapping meanwhile Its fee, like that paid for the son of Mary.
And still goes one, saying, "What will ye give me, and I will deliver this man unto you?" And they make the covenant, and pay the pieces of silver.
