UNFORGIVEN.
HAST thou brought the kiss that forgiveth wrong
To his lips too cold to ask it?
Didst thou deem the buds he missed so long
Would blossom upon his casket?
In the heaven-gate he may scarcely wait
To look on thy last love-token,
Now that the silver cord is loosed
And the golden bowl is broken.
The silver cord, the shining cord,
With all thine heart-strings woven
Is rent away, and by fiery sword
Thy mail of pride is cloven.
No tears so salt can cleanse thy fault,
And the bitter words once spoken,
Long ere the silver cord was loosed,
Or the golden bowl was broken.
The bowl that stood with thirsty brim
From off its shattered edges
Lets slip thy wine of love, too dim
With old forgotten pledges.
Too late, too late for love or hate.
Be our words of pardon spoken,
Or ever the silver cord is loosed,
Or the golden bowl is broken.
