By REX T. STOUT
DEMOCRITUS I'd chosen for my guide.
The love of man for woman—all a joke.
I felt that I would be well satisfied
With but a book to read, a pipe to smoke.
I laughed at those who languished for their love;
I laughed at those made happy by a kiss,
At those who swore that she came from above,
At passions frenzied, at sweet dreams of bliss.
And then I met a maid—oh, wondrous fair!
I laughed no more; ’twas driven out by love.
But she looked on me with indifferent air,
And all my prayers could not her pity move.
She laughed because I asked to be her slave;
She laughed at supplications, threats and tears,
At vows that I would love her till the grave,
At agony that kills, at pain that sears.