Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/269

Rh Let the rich blush born of that dear confession Again dye cheek and brow, and fade and melt Forever, even as then.

We are watched, my lord. This is no place, no hour, for words like these.

When, where then, may we meet? [They pass on.

This is revenge. Is she not beautiful, Ye gods ? The beggar s child matched with a prince! Throb not so high, my heart, neath envious eyes Fixed on thy triumph ! Now am I well repaid For my slow, martyred years. Was I not wrung By keener tortures than my savage brush, Though dipped in my heart s blood, might reproduce!