Henry C. CalhounI reached the highest place in Spoon River,But through what bitterness of spirit!The face of my father, sitting speechless,Child-like, watching his canaries,And looking at the court-house windowOf the county judge’s room,And his admonitions to me to seekMy own in life, and punish Spoon RiverTo avenge the wrong the people did him,Filled me with furious energyTo seek for wealth and seek for power.But what did he do but send me alongThe path that leads to the grove of the Furies?I followed the path and I tell you this:On the way to the grove you’ll pass the Fates,Shadow-eyed, bent over their weaving.Stop for a moment, and if you seeThe thread of revenge leap out of the shuttleThen quickly snatch from AtroposThe shears and cut it, lest your sonsAnd the children of them and their childrenWear the envenomed robe.
I reached the highest place in Spoon River,But through what bitterness of spirit!The face of my father, sitting speechless,Child-like, watching his canaries,And looking at the court-house windowOf the county judge’s room,And his admonitions to me to seekMy own in life, and punish Spoon RiverTo avenge the wrong the people did him,Filled me with furious energyTo seek for wealth and seek for power.But what did he do but send me alongThe path that leads to the grove of the Furies?I followed the path and I tell you this:On the way to the grove you’ll pass the Fates,Shadow-eyed, bent over their weaving.Stop for a moment, and if you seeThe thread of revenge leap out of the shuttleThen quickly snatch from AtroposThe shears and cut it, lest your sonsAnd the children of them and their childrenWear the envenomed robe.