Two Ways of Love.
63
Tom—I know.
I knew it then, and so I never spoke.
I could have claimed yon—yes, make no mistake,
I could have claimed you—and there were wild hours—
But let it pass. But now, think, Adrienne,
Your lover Phillip is my dearest friend,
My more than brother, knit to me with ties
That every man holds sacred, and you ask
That I shall thus deliberately wound
And stab his honour. Oh! my dear, be just,
How can I do my friend this coward wrong?
I knew it then, and so I never spoke.
I could have claimed yon—yes, make no mistake,
I could have claimed you—and there were wild hours—
But let it pass. But now, think, Adrienne,
Your lover Phillip is my dearest friend,
My more than brother, knit to me with ties
That every man holds sacred, and you ask
That I shall thus deliberately wound
And stab his honour. Oh! my dear, be just,
How can I do my friend this coward wrong?
Adrienne—
Tom, all these years you suffered, loving me,
All your great sacrifices, and the gifts
Of name, and youth, and happiness you gave
I take; great gifts for any man to give
And any woman take, yet not enough
To meet my needs. Give me your honour too.
Add that bright thing to crown the glittering heap
And buy me happiness. Oh, cousin, if———
Tom, all these years you suffered, loving me,
All your great sacrifices, and the gifts
Of name, and youth, and happiness you gave
I take; great gifts for any man to give
And any woman take, yet not enough
To meet my needs. Give me your honour too.
Add that bright thing to crown the glittering heap
And buy me happiness. Oh, cousin, if———
Tom—
No more, great God! no more! Oh! woman, dear,
These two white hands, these supplicating eyes,
No more, great God! no more! Oh! woman, dear,
These two white hands, these supplicating eyes,
