Thou Shalt Not Kill

    I had grown weary of him; of his breath
    And hands and features I was sick to death.
    Each day I heard the same dull voice and tread;
    I did not hate him: but I wished him dead.
    And he must with his blank face fill my life--
    Then my brain blackened; and I snatched a knife.

    But ere I struck, my soul's grey deserts through
    A voice cried, 'Know at least what thing you do.'
    'This is a common man: knowest thou, O soul,
    What this thing is? somewhere where seasons roll
    There is some living thing for whom this man
    Is as seven heavens girt into a span,
    For some one soul you take the world away--
    Now know you well your deed and purpose. Slay!'

    Then I cast down the knife upon the ground
    And saw that mean man for one moment crowned.
    I turned and laughed: for there was no one by--
    The man that I had sought to slay was I.

                                                 G. K. Chesterton