Two Ways of Love.
44
And then a wave of bitterest despair
Came whelming over me, and I was drowned.
The gay young Nellie that they knew was drowned
Before their eyes, and no one ever saw
How in the magic circle of that room
Ablaze with lights, and flooded with perfume,
A little human tragedy was played—
A girl's heart waked to love and struck to death
All in an unexpected moment, while
The tide of laughter, gaiety, and life
And music, all too sweet for such designs,
Swept on unheeding. Oh! an hour ago
I could have wept with any, silver drops
To sprinkle my emotions till they flowered
In pity or in sympathy, but now—
It seems so strange to think I cannot weep.
I surely am not I? Nellie! Yet they laugh
As usual when I say some daring thing,
And turn their platitudes to epigrams,
And still I bear my part, yet sometimes glance
In sudden terror at the lace that lies
Upon my breast to see if it be stained
With tell-tale crimson, for it seems, that when
One's heart is wounded, it should bleed, but no!
Came whelming over me, and I was drowned.
The gay young Nellie that they knew was drowned
Before their eyes, and no one ever saw
How in the magic circle of that room
Ablaze with lights, and flooded with perfume,
A little human tragedy was played—
A girl's heart waked to love and struck to death
All in an unexpected moment, while
The tide of laughter, gaiety, and life
And music, all too sweet for such designs,
Swept on unheeding. Oh! an hour ago
I could have wept with any, silver drops
To sprinkle my emotions till they flowered
In pity or in sympathy, but now—
It seems so strange to think I cannot weep.
I surely am not I? Nellie! Yet they laugh
As usual when I say some daring thing,
And turn their platitudes to epigrams,
And still I bear my part, yet sometimes glance
In sudden terror at the lace that lies
Upon my breast to see if it be stained
With tell-tale crimson, for it seems, that when
One's heart is wounded, it should bleed, but no!
