To me he whispered: "Since your call--"
So spoke he then, alas for me -
"I've felt for her, and righted all."
- I think of it to agony.
"She's faint to-day--tired--nothing more--"
Thus did I lie, alas for me . . .
I called her at her chamber door
As one who scarce had strength to be.
No voice replied. I went within -
O women! scourged the worst are we . . .
I shrieked. The others hastened in
And saw the stroke there dealt on me.
There she lay--silent, breathless, dead,
Stone dead she lay--wronged, sinless she! -
Ghost-white the cheeks once rosy-red:
Death had took her. Death took not me.
I kissed her colding face and hair,
I kissed her corpse--the bride to be! -
My punishment I cannot bear,
But pray God NOT to pity me.
January 1904.
THE HOUSE OF HOSPITALITIES
Here we broached the Christmas barrel,
Pushed up the charred log-ends;
Here we sang the Christmas carol,
And called in friends.
Time has tired me since we met here
When the folk now dead were young,
Since the viands were outset here
And quaint songs sung.
And the worm has bored the viol
That used to lead the tune,
Rust eaten out the dial
That struck night's noon.
Now no Christmas brings in neighbours,
And the New Year comes unlit;
Where we sang the mole now labours,
And spiders knit.
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