28
POEMS.
He (very seriously):
Dear, if I jest, it is because I read
The hopelessness of aught that I could plead
In your stern eyes, which righteous wrath be tray.
Were you another woman, I should say
That you were fair, and I, it seems, was mad,
But that the last long waltz that we had had
Might very well have turned a wiser head.
A hundred things like this I might have said
To women who would take them as excuse.
You think none possible—so what's the use?
She:
Then why discuss it further? Let us go.
He:
One minute!
I should like you first to know
I did not think that this would be the end
When, two weeks since, you said you'd be my friend.
She (reflectively):
Only two weeks.
Dear, if I jest, it is because I read
The hopelessness of aught that I could plead
In your stern eyes, which righteous wrath be tray.
Were you another woman, I should say
That you were fair, and I, it seems, was mad,
But that the last long waltz that we had had
Might very well have turned a wiser head.
A hundred things like this I might have said
To women who would take them as excuse.
You think none possible—so what's the use?
She:
Then why discuss it further? Let us go.
He:
One minute!
I should like you first to know
I did not think that this would be the end
When, two weeks since, you said you'd be my friend.
She (reflectively):
Only two weeks.
