A Trois Temps.
85
Upon a noxious insect, but that he
Has wit to love you as becomes a man.
No! do not turn away, nor hide your eyes.
I still am I, though roused at last to feel
My strength and use———
Has wit to love you as becomes a man.
No! do not turn away, nor hide your eyes.
I still am I, though roused at last to feel
My strength and use———
She—
I have a child———
I have a child———
He—
His child———
His child———
She—
My child—a little girl, so small, so sweet,
Just four years old, with little, clustering curls
The colour of my own, and tiny hands
That lie upon my heartstrings. Part of me—
The purer part she is. The lovely soul
Is stainless; and—at night—I pray—no spot
May ever touch her—for her sake I ask,
For her—my little child———
My child—a little girl, so small, so sweet,
Just four years old, with little, clustering curls
The colour of my own, and tiny hands
That lie upon my heartstrings. Part of me—
The purer part she is. The lovely soul
Is stainless; and—at night—I pray—no spot
May ever touch her—for her sake I ask,
For her—my little child———
****
He—
The waltz is over! 'Twas a dance of death!
I see your husband waiting. Go to him!
He—
The waltz is over! 'Twas a dance of death!
I see your husband waiting. Go to him!
