Page:Wessex poems and other verses (IA wessexpoemsother00hard).pdf/122

 —Well, I went away, hoping; but nought I heard Of my stroke for the child, till there greeted me A little voice that one day came To my window-frame And babbled innocently:

"My father who's not my own, sends word I'm to stay here, sir, where I belong!" Next a writing came: "Since the child was the fruit Of your passions brute, Pray take her, to right a wrong."

And I did. And I gave the child my love, And the child loved me, and estranged us none. But compunctions loomed; for I'd harmed the dead By what I'd said For the good of the living one.