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CRUEL LOVE—ANACREONTIC
63
I took his icy hand in mine,—
Why swifter throbbed each vein?
Was it the impulse of my blood
To ease his frozen pain?—
Yet still his lips refused to smile,
Still fell his tears like rain.
Bashful he seemed, as half inclined
To shiver there apart:
I led him closer to the fire,
I drew him to my heart:
Ah, cruel Love! my trustful breast
He wounded with a dart!
Ah, cruel Love! He smiled at last—
A wondrous smile to see!
And passing from my sheltering door,
With step alert and free,
He took my warmth, my joy with him,—
His tears he left to me!
