A dead judge speaks from his grave, watching wind and rain eat into his headstone. He sees the erosion as an almost personal hatred, a Nemesis scoring marks against him—not to preserve his memory but to destroy it. In life, he was a circuit judge who decided cases based on the points lawyers scored, not on the right of the matter. Now he is speechless but sees clearly. He tells the wind and rain to leave his stone alone, because the real punishment was worse than the anger of the wronged or the curses of the poor. Lying still with clear vision, he understands that even Hod Putt, a murderer hanged by his sentence, was innocent in soul compared with him. The mood is somber, ironic, and quietly horrified—the judge finally judges himself.
The Circuit Judge — Summary
Take note, passers-by, of the sharp erosions Eaten in my head-stone by the wind and rain— Almost as if an intangible Nemesis or hatred Were marking scores against me, But to destroy, and not preserve, my memory. I in life was the Circuit Judge, a maker of notches, Deciding cases on the points the lawyers scored, Not on the right of the matter. O wind and rain, leave my head-stone alone For worse than the anger of the wronged, The curses of the poor, Was to lie speechless, yet with vision clear, Seeing that even Hod Putt, the murderer, Hanged by my sentence, Was innocent in soul compared with me.