Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/73

Rh And when it pleased my pride to grant,

At last some rare caress,

To feel the fever of that hand

My fingers deigned to press.

'Twas sweet to see her strive to hide

What every glance revealed;

Endowed, the while, with despot-might

Her destiny to wield.

I knew myself no perfect man,

Nor, as she deemed, divine;

I knew that I was glorious—but

By her reflected shine;

Her youth, her native energy,

Her powers new-born and fresh,

'Twas these with Godhead sanctified

My sensual frame of flesh.

Yet, like a god did I descend

At last, to meet her love;

And, like a god, I then withdrew

To my own heaven above.

And never more could she invoke

My presence to her sphere;

No prayer, no plaint, no cry of hers

Could win my awful ear.

I knew her blinded constancy

Would ne'er my deeds betray,