Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/37

18 Here the grey spider had circled them o'er, Hand to hand tied, In their clasped fingers lay hidden his store, There, too, he spied.

I was the fool then who linked in that clasp Each skeleton hand; Thus!—will I be he who loosens the grasp, How was it planned?

Here is a phial: was death then so sweet, Honour or life? This was the only way lovers could meet— She was a wife.

Wrapped in death's silence, safe from my scorn; He was my friend: It was his love whom I bore home that mom, His to the end!

Was it the woman who plotted and spied, Using my heart Just for a stone there to step where the tide Kept them apart?

Was he a coward, lying lowly to wait, Giving me blame? Vain do I strike him, avenging my fate. Cursed be his name!

She was my love: did she bid him believe I for his sake Cast away honour to stoop and deceive. Bore him the stake?

He was my friend: dare I doubt him and know? What if it be Nothing he knew of her coming—the blow That fell on me?