Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/68

 Could he have made Priscilla cease To goad him for what God left out, Llewellyn would have been as mild As any we have read about. Could all have been as all was not, Llewellyn would have had no story; He would have stayed a quiet man And gone his quiet way to glory. But howsoever mild he was Priscilla was implacable; And whatsoever timid hopes He built she found them, and they fell. And this went on, with intervals Of labored harmony between Resounding discords, till at last Llewellyn turned as will be seen. Priscilla, warmer than her name, And shriller than the sound of saws, Pursued Llewellyn once too far, Not knowing quite the man he was. The more she said, the fiercer clung The stinging garment of his wrath; And this was all before the day When Time tossed roses in his path. Before the roses ever came Llewellyn had already risen. The roses may have ruined him, They may have kept him out of prison.