A Trois Temps.
82
From wrist to spirit and endue a grief
That time may slay, with immortality?
When, years ago, I blindly gave my life
Into another's keeping, I withheld
No vestige of my honour. It is his
Whose name I hear. Condemn me not to stain
A life that holds itself so proud and high.
Through all the madness of this love of ours
Which, like a flood, has whelmed my very soul
In dark, unfathomed waters, I have held—
As drowning wretches lift above the waves
A treasure that they hold more dear than life—
Unstained, his honour. 'Tis an empty thing
To save for him from out the tide that swept
My heart and all its passions to your feet,
Yet his, and saved, God knows at what a cost!
And would you make, by one mad, reckless word,
This dear-bought relic of my shattered joy
A byword for the world's base feet to tread
And trample into filthiness———
That time may slay, with immortality?
When, years ago, I blindly gave my life
Into another's keeping, I withheld
No vestige of my honour. It is his
Whose name I hear. Condemn me not to stain
A life that holds itself so proud and high.
Through all the madness of this love of ours
Which, like a flood, has whelmed my very soul
In dark, unfathomed waters, I have held—
As drowning wretches lift above the waves
A treasure that they hold more dear than life—
Unstained, his honour. 'Tis an empty thing
To save for him from out the tide that swept
My heart and all its passions to your feet,
Yet his, and saved, God knows at what a cost!
And would you make, by one mad, reckless word,
This dear-bought relic of my shattered joy
A byword for the world's base feet to tread
And trample into filthiness———
He—Mere sophistry!
Since he has never held your love, what use
To cherish so its shadow? As we stand
Since he has never held your love, what use
To cherish so its shadow? As we stand
