'Mad?'--'not exactly--bewilder'd--confus'd;
Thoughts turn'd astray by grief's terrible force;
Not even by love is murder excus'd;
She cannot believe that he did it, of course.
She thinks him a hero, and so loves on;
Reason enthron'd would annihilate this;
Love would have nothing to nestle upon,
Did she perceive him the sinner he is.'

* * * * *

Words striking my brain like sunshine on ice,
Bursting the bulwarks that kept the flood in;
Is love only madness? Will reason suffice
To crucify love at the presence of sin?

Reason comes back with all honours she had,
Calmly accepting my life as it is;
I will not go mad--I dare not go mad--
I must _prove_ love is not treason like this!

Is he not all that I thought him? Be still
O treacherous heart--then _you_ were to blame:
I married my Harry for good or ill,
And through good and ill I love him the same.

If God died for us, and lay in a grave,
Leaving His mansions of glory for this;
It must have been from a longing to save