Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/59

40 All still you stood a moment with your eyes Fixed on him for some mercy, but his face Half turned in scorning; so, like one who dies, You moaned, and ran to hide in your disgrace.

And I had struck him, but he fell to tears, And loud lamenting, crying, “Oh, the gold That was my life. O death-inflicting shears, To rob the perfumed locks I loved to hold!”

I spumed him, told the sacrifice, and bid Him go and seek you, praying you forgive, But he with laughter scorned me as I chid, “I'll seek some other tresses, so I live.”

I struck him then, for I was sick, in truth. Of my long hatred; he went down to lie Beside his dog, who was the nobler brute. And wept that he was slain and soon to die.