Page:The Curse at Farewell.pdf/49

 THE CURSE AT FAREWELL

My woman’s heart hard as the thunder- stone

You have made; and now you vanish to your own,

Your heaven, your work, your glory! All* distress,

All pain, you fling afar in this access

Of leaping joy—defeated, finished now !

But what is my work, what my wondrous vow?

And what to my maimed, useless life is left?

What glory? In this wood to sit, bereft

Of friend and fortune, crushed, with down- cast face,

Companionless—to see in every place,

Where’er [ look, the pricking, piercing brake

Of memory’s thousand thorns! And Shame, the snake,

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