Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/327

THE BLAMELESS PRINCE

She said; "now let us on the knowledge thrive!"

So closed the doors, and all things else forgot

Than her own misery. "I cannot live

And bear this death," she said, "nor die, the more

To meet him,—and that woman gone before!"

Thus with herself she writhed, while midnight gloomed,

As lone as any outcast of us all;

And once, without a purpose, as the doomed

Stare round and count the shadows on the wall,

Unclasped a poet's book which near her lay,

And turned its pages in that witless way,

And read the song, some wise, sad man had made,

With bitter frost about his doubting heart.

Of which ye all are witnesses and part?

'Tis but a foolish, smiling face to wear

Above your mortal sorrow, chill despair;

That feels the care ye cannot drive away;

To vaunt of health, yet hide beneath the girth

Impuissance, fell sickness, slow decay;

To cloak defeat, and with the rich, the great,

Applaud their fairer fortunes as they mate;

Though but to-morrow brings the open shame;

To pay the tribute of your caste, and toss

Your last to him that's richer save in name;

To judge your peers, and give the doleful meed

To crime that's white beside your hidden deed;

Desire, where lust is dead; to live unchaste, 297