Thou doest quite unwittingly. A sigh,

A smile is all thine answer, but thy way

Is chosen; then the hue and cry is raised

Against thee, and thy staunchest friends will pile

{56}

With eager hands the wood on which to burn

Thy very soul, and not a tear will quench

That fire, not a hand will save thee, for

Thou art misunderstood, misjudged, despised,

And hated by the friends, who once believed

In thee as in their God. And what revenge

Could help thee? Falling back on thee, thy arm

Struck to the ground, thy heart a desert, not

Devastated to bloom again, but burnt

To lava by your heart's own flame of vengeance.

And if forgiveness be too great for thee,

Go past, turn not thy head, speak not a word

That cannot be recalled, and that will bar

The road for ever, that will cut the cloth

Between thy foes and thee. The present hour

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