Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/98

44 Revenge may stain a righteous sword,

It may be just to slay;

But, traitor, traitor,—from that word

All true breasts shrink away!

Oh, I would give my heart to death,

To keep my honour fair;

Yet, I'll not give my inward faith

My honour's name to spare!

Not even to keep your priceless love,

Dare I, Beloved, deceive;

This treason should the future prove,

Then, only then, believe!

I know the path I ought to go;

I follow fearlessly,

Inquiring not what deeper woe

Stern duty stores for me.

So foes pursue, and cold allies

Mistrust me, every one:

Let me be false in others' eyes,

If faithful in my own.