Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/210

208 I heard them whispering there by the bed… Oh, but the ears of the blind are quick! Every treacherous word they said Was a stab of pain and my heart turned sick. Then lip met lip and they looked at me, Sitting bent by the fallen fire, And they laughed to think that I couldn’t see; But I felt the flame of their hot desire. He’s helping Marie to work the farm, A dashing, upstanding chap, they say; And look at me with my flabby arm, And the fat of sloth, and my face of clay– Look at me as I sit and sit, By the side of a fire that’s seldom lit, Sagging and weary the livelong day, When every one else is out on the field, Sowing the seed for a golden yield, Or tossing around the new-mown hay.…

Oh, the shimmering wheat that frets the sky, Gold of plenty and blue of hope, I’m seeing it all with an inner eye As out of the door I grope and grope. And I hear my wife and her lover there, Whispering, whispering, round the rick, Mocking me and my sightless stare, As I fumble and stumble everywhere, Slapping and tapping with my stick; Old and weary at thirty-one,