Page:Maurine and Other Poems (1910).pdf/29

 And all my soul with that sweet strain is ringing. If there were added but one drop of bliss, No more my cup would hold: and so, this eve, I made a wish that I might feel his kiss Upon my lips, ere yon pale moon should leave The stars all lonely, having waned away, Too old and weak and bowed with care to stay.”

Her voice sighed in silence. While she spoke My heart writhed in me, praying she would cease— Each word she uttered falling like a stroke On my bare soul. And now a hush like death, Save that ’twas broken by a quick-drawn breath, Fell ’round me, but brought not the hoped-for peace. For when the lash no longer leaves its blows, The flesh still quivers, and the blood still flows.

She nestled on my bosom like a child, And ’neath her head my tortured heart throbbed wild With pain and pity. She had told her tale— Her self-deceiving story to the end. How could I look down on her as she lay So fair, and sweet, and lily-like, and frail— A tender blossom on my breast, and say, “Nay, you are wrong—you do mistake, dear friend! ’Tis I am loved, not you”? Yet that were truth, And she must know it later. Should I speak, And spread a ghastly pallor o’er the cheek Flushed now with joy? And while I, doubting pondered, She spoke again. “Maurine! I oft have wondered Why you and Vivian were not lovers. He Is all a heart could ask its king to be; And you have beauty, intellect and youth. I think it strange you have not loved each other— Strange how he could pass by you for another Not half so fair or worthy. Yet I know A loving Father pre-arranged it so. I think my heart has known him all these years, And waited for him. And if when he came It had been as a lover of my friend, I should have recognised him, all the same, As my soul-mate, and loved him to the end, Hiding my grief, and forcing back my tears Till on my heart, slow dropping, day by day, Unseen they fell, and wore it all away.