[Pg 36]

“Hath sweetness stint or measure?

What bars us from our pleasure?”

I heard myself replying.

My happier life was dying:

I kissed her dainty finger-tips,

I kissed her on the false, false lips—

Then take,” I cried, “my heart to thee!”

I plucked, I gave it willingly:

Her very heart she gave to me—

[Pg 37]

And it was withered, old, and gray;

Were fading with the fading day.

Through all that ghastly night I fled,

Her fierce unflagging tread;

The heart within my breast to sleep:

With never a throb or leap.

The heart that once had been mine own:

A cold, cold heart of stone.

[Pg 38]

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