“And why was that,
My child?” he asked, a captive once again
To her gray eyes and her white need of him.
“You might have told your father I was coming
Till the world’s end, and I might not have come.”
My child?” he asked, a captive once again
To her gray eyes and her white need of him.
“You might have told your father I was coming
Till the world’s end, and I might not have come.”
“You would have come, because I knew you would,”
She said, with a smile shaking on her lips
And fading in her eyes. “And you said that,
Because you knew, or because you knew nothing,
Or cared less than you know. Because you knew,
I like to fancy. It will do no harm.”
She said, with a smile shaking on her lips
And fading in her eyes. “And you said that,
Because you knew, or because you knew nothing,
Or cared less than you know. Because you knew,
I like to fancy. It will do no harm.”
“Were I so sure of that,” he thought, “as you are,
There would be no infection of regret
In my remembrance of a usefulness
That Brittany will say was mine. Isolt
Of Brittany? Why were two names like that
Written for me by fate upon my heart
In red and white? Is this white fire of pity,
If pity it be, to burn deeper than love?”
Isolt of Ireland’s dark wild eyes before him
In the moonlight, and that last look of hers,
Appeared in answer. Tristram gazed away
There would be no infection of regret
In my remembrance of a usefulness
That Brittany will say was mine. Isolt
Of Brittany? Why were two names like that
Written for me by fate upon my heart
In red and white? Is this white fire of pity,
If pity it be, to burn deeper than love?”
Isolt of Ireland’s dark wild eyes before him
In the moonlight, and that last look of hers,
Appeared in answer. Tristram gazed away
[ 91 ]
