Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/163

 I think, to be the leman of a god; But all too fair, and yet not good enough, To be the spouse and helpmate of one man. —For this: there is a serpent in you hid; It dwells in the invisible of thought, Or crouches in some comer of your heart, Or is engendered in the ardent flame Of your quick passions,—where, it matters not; But never doth it cease so to distil Its wily poison into all you are Or do or feel, it makes you turn and stab Where most you thought to love,—it sets your lips In league with falsehood to betray your heart, Puts plotting in your heart against your lips.

You cannot will your heart to any man But you must seek, for very wantonness— As tempts the snake within you—just the straight Betrayal of that man—his love, his faith, As though you had not willed yourself at first: And if you did not this somehow, your life Would seem to you a nipped and withered thing, Your beauty good for nought. You are made so.