POET.
Shame upon her, who first
Treason and falsehood taught !
With grief and wrath accurst,
Who set my brain distraught
Shame, woman baleful-eyed.
Whose fatal love entombed
In shadows of thy pride
My April ere it bloomed.
It was thy voice, thy smile,
Thy poisoned glances bright,
Which taught me to revile
The semblance of delight.
Thy grace of girlish years
Murdered my peace, my sleep.
If I lose faith in tears,
'T is that I saw thee weep.
I yielded to thy power
A child*s simplicity.
As to the dawn the flower.
So oped my heart to thee.
Doubtless this helpless heart
Was thine without defence.
Were 't not the better part
To spare its innocence ?
Shame ! thou who didst beget
My earliest, youngest woe.
The tears are streaming yet
Which first thou madest flow.
