Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/32



a man who hath known trouble, O'Ruarc of the Lake. On my life's glass joy rose as a bubble To glitter and break.

She laid in mine her hands long and slender, So softly sweet, Little curls on her head tasselled like tender Gold autumn wheat.

Brown leaves around her whirling and falling, Blown to her cheek. I, with my heart for her loud in its calling, Still could not speak!

Wife of my foe thus pleading before me, There seemed no wrong: With my mad passions that stifled and tore me Who could be strong?

What had she shown me there in her weeping, On her white arm? Black, cruel bruises vividly keeping Tales of alarm.

What had she begged me there in the morning, God judge me well? What had she said, that I without warning Struggled in Hell?