Nay I will tell thee all, I will not hide

One thought from thee, and if I do thee wrong

So much the more must I be brave and strong

To show my fault. And if thou then shouldst chide

I will accept reproof most willingly

So it but bringeth peace to thee and me.

I dread thy past. Phantoms of other days

Pursue my vision. There are other hands

Which thou hast held, perchance some slender bands

That draw thee still to other woodland ways

Than those which we have known, some blissful hours

I do not share, of love, and June, and flowers.

I dread her most, that woman whom thou knewest

Those years ago,—I cannot bear to think

That she can say: "My lover praised the pink

[Pg 11]

Of palm, or ear," "The violets were bluest

In that dear copse," and dream of some fair day

When thou didst while her summer hours away.

I dread them too, those light loves and desires

 Prev. P 8/57 next