Page:Poems Hoffman.djvu/140

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THE THIEF

The sweet wild roses told, told me
While the south wind sobbed in answering grief,
As they clutched with their wary thorns to hold me,
With trembling pink lips they told me, told me,
And the wild birds chanted—"A thief, a thief!"

He came from the streets of a sunset city
Where his name was held in high esteem,
But alas! alas! 'tis the world's great pity
That people are not always what they seem.

She was as rich in nature's beauty
As the sweet wild roses she loved to hold,
Timidly locked in the safe of duty
Lay her heart's rich treasure, her love's pure gold.

Alas! alas! the unguarded minute
When the wild rose maiden crossed his track,
When he spied her treasure and sought to win it,
The thief, who had nothing to give her back.

Did he take her honor, her gems, her money?
No, none of these. Is it nothing worth
That he blighted her youth's bright Eden sunny
And left for her future a dead cold earth?

And what to him was his boasted treasure?
So small the triumph in truth appears—
To feed his pride for a few hours' pleasure
On the happiness of a life's long years.

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