Page:Alice Miller (1917) Women are people (Internet Archive).djvu/66



O,, you have wounded me beyond All words—have dimmed our love's initial splendour; I, who had thought you faithful, reverent, fond, Am filled with doubts of your complete surrender. Last evening when the argent car of night Went up the sky with many a starry minion, You, without asking me if you were right, Expressed a clear, impersonal opinion, A judgment, a belief, an abstract thought; And though I frowned and held myself aloof, And murmured sternly: "Nothing of the sort," You did not seem to notice the reproof. O, Mabel, cease to think, or how can we Be certain we shall never disagree?