Page:Poems Storrie.djvu/225

Behind his passion, and behind his brain,
That faint aroma, holy to his sense
That should perfume the woman of his choice,
And mark her perfect fitness. Yes. and she,
This poor pale heiress—she is crowned withal
Standing on this immaculate pedestal.
With something all my beauty, all my power
Cannot attain. Yes. I could see him dead.
And better, better now than dumbly wait
To see the certain day of my eclipse.
I'll never see it! Now my hand is nerved
And I can do it. What's the body's death
When measured by the spirit's? We could pass
Together now. and never know the pang
That waits us living. Yes. I can. I shall.
But Max! Beloved! just one little look.
One glance at those shut eyelids melts my heart.
Live and be happy, darling. Let me pay
My bitter debt alone. Be happy. Live.
Remembering not my name: a name accursed.
And tread an even, blossom-bordered path
Beside your wife. His wife! her little child
That is to be! the crown of human love.
Her little child, that should be his and mine,
My heart is hungry for that little child.