Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/85

Rh I took his icy hand in mine,—

Why swifter throbbed each vein?

Was it the impulse of my blood

To ease his frozen pain?—

Yet still his lips refused to smile,

Still fell his tears like rain.

Bashful he seemed, as half inclined

To shiver there apart:

I led him closer to the fire,

I drew him to my heart:

Ah, cruel Love! my trustful breast

He wounded with a dart!

Ah, cruel Love! He smiled at last—

A wondrous smile to see!

And passing from my sheltering door,

With step alert and free,

He took my warmth, my joy with him,—

His tears he left to me!