"'Twas done to please her, we surmise?"
(They spoke quite lightly in their glee)
"Done by him as a fond surprise?"
I thought their words would madden me.

Her lover entered. "Where's my bird? -
My bird--my flower--my picotee?
First time of asking, soon the third!"
Ah, in my grave I well may be.

To me he whispered: "Since your call--"
So spoke he then, alas for me -
"I've felt for her, and righted all."
- I think of it to agony.

"She's faint to-day--tired--nothing more--"
Thus did I lie, alas for me . . .
I called her at her chamber door
As one who scarce had strength to be.

No voice replied. I went within -
O women! scourged the worst are we . . .
I shrieked. The others hastened in
And saw the stroke there dealt on me.

There she lay--silent, breathless, dead,
Stone dead she lay--wronged, sinless she! -
Ghost-white the cheeks once rosy-red:
Death had took her. Death took not me.