Modern Love: XXIV
The misery is greater, as I live! To know her flesh so pure, so keen her sense, That she does penance now for no offence, Save against Love. The less can I forgive! The less can I forgive, though I adore That cruel lovely pallor which surrounds Her footsteps; and the low vibrating sounds That come on me, as from a magic shore. Low are they, but most subtle to find out The shrinking soul. Madam, ’t is understood When women play upon their womanhood; It means, a Season gone. And yet I doubt But I am duped. That nun-like look waylays My fancy! Oh! I do but wait a sign! Pluck out the eyes of pride! thy mouth to mind! Never! though I die thirsting. Go thy ways!
This poem is in the public domain.