Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/150

Who else hath had her more and called her his
Than here I have her calling herself mine?
I would indeed he might draw near just now,
Yea, void of feigning, in some wonted way,
And feel a cold look from her plant him there
Outside the circle where this molten love
Of her whole smile is showered upon me,
And know her no more his now than mine then.

But what do I here with a thought like this?
Those men I deemed my rivals—what are they
To me now? Why I could put them to shame
And taunt them now myself for insolent
Pretenders who have never known what 'tis
To conquer love.—Ay, what compared with me
Seem all the famous lovers of great queens
Or splendid cruel mistresses, whose woes—
Deceived, betrayed, reviled—have made them shine
With some bright share of every age's tears?
What but mere fools? weak sufferers of wrong
From creatures whom they held in their own hands?