THE STORY OF BOON.
229
His heart with knowledge more complete
Of thee. O Lady, the deceit
Was only for his precious sake
And thine: no other way to take
I knew. My husband is so great,
So good, I was but humble mate
For him. As shadow follows shape,
My heart in life cannot escape
From following his; nor yet in death
Shall it be changed: with dying breath,
From Buddha I one joy will wrest,
That he find rapture in thy breast."
Boon ceased, and in her slender hands,
Which scarce could lift her fetter bands,
Buried her face. Choy did not speak.
Her reverence knew not where to seek
For fitting words which she might dare
To use to Boon. The midnight air
Heard only sobs, as close between
Her arms she drew Boon's head to lean
Upon her breast. The long night waned,
And still in silence sat the chained
And helpless women. Strange thoughts filled
The heart of Choy. Her love seemed chilled,
Poor, and untrue, beside this one
Great deed she never could have done.
"Ah, me! his wife has loved him best,"
In bitterness her heart confessed,
Yet jealousy for shame was dead.
Her tears fell loving on Boon's head:
"Dear Boon," she whispered soft and low,
"To Buddha pitiful we go."
Of thee. O Lady, the deceit
Was only for his precious sake
And thine: no other way to take
I knew. My husband is so great,
So good, I was but humble mate
For him. As shadow follows shape,
My heart in life cannot escape
From following his; nor yet in death
Shall it be changed: with dying breath,
From Buddha I one joy will wrest,
That he find rapture in thy breast."
Boon ceased, and in her slender hands,
Which scarce could lift her fetter bands,
Buried her face. Choy did not speak.
Her reverence knew not where to seek
For fitting words which she might dare
To use to Boon. The midnight air
Heard only sobs, as close between
Her arms she drew Boon's head to lean
Upon her breast. The long night waned,
And still in silence sat the chained
And helpless women. Strange thoughts filled
The heart of Choy. Her love seemed chilled,
Poor, and untrue, beside this one
Great deed she never could have done.
"Ah, me! his wife has loved him best,"
In bitterness her heart confessed,
Yet jealousy for shame was dead.
Her tears fell loving on Boon's head:
"Dear Boon," she whispered soft and low,
"To Buddha pitiful we go."
