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To An Ingrate

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             TO AN INGRATE

This is to-day, a golden summer's day
  And yet—and yet
  My vengeful soul will not forget
The past, forever now forgot, you say.

From that half height where I had sadly climbed,
  I stretched my hand,
  I lone in all that land,
Down there, where, helpless, you were limed.

Our fingers clasped, and dragging me a pace,
  You struggled up.
  It is a bitter Cup,
That now for naught, you turn away your face.

I shall remember this for aye and aye.
  Whate'er may come,
  Although my lips are dumb,
My spirit holds you to that yesterday.

This work was published before January 1, 1924, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.