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94 OTHER VERSE |
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I held her close in my arms last night;
Oh, the pain of stolen bliss! She checked me with grief that was half delight, The loves that were wrong, the hearts that were right,
Clung close in that pleading kiss.
Her lord is brawny and strong of arm,
But comely and kind, men say; The brute that is in him may take alarm, When he knows her heart with its depth of calm
Has passed forever away.
Why tarries she yet ? 'Tis very late,
And the night-bird bodeth ill; But hist! I hear by the oaken stair, Loud angry words—a cry of despair,
Ah, God ! Now all is still.
I knew no bars, I knew no bolts,
I knew no doors of oak, I traversed the stairs and sounding floors; The chambers were closed—the great carved doors
Fell to a thunder-stroke.
Oh, rose! Oh, lily! Oh, poor white dove; And the blood-stain on her breast, |
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