Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/124

Rh But Fate in an evil mood let slip A rolling stone In the steed's swift way, and it ran to trip The frightened roan.

She leaned from the bush, all sore afraid At the tumult there, Her dimpled face, poor little maid. And shining hair.

He stayed to woo and his love to tell For an idle day, Opened the gates of Heaven—of Hell— Then rode away.

With a smile and a jest for his time delayed, He came to town— In the lake's deep heart, poor little maid. She laid her down.

And I, who heard the tale retold, Still wondering wait Will the man some time, a thousandfold. Repent her fate?

But he laughs to-day with his sin unpaid. And she sleeping lies— So white, so still—poor little maid, She had sweet eyes.