Was on my face, and that his eyes must see
The joy I felt almost transfigured me.
He loves me--loves me! so the birds kept singing,
And all my soul with that sweet strain is ringing.
If there were added but one drop of bliss,
No more my cup would hold: and so, this eve,
I made a wish that I might feel his kiss
Upon my lips, ere yon pale moon should leave
The stars all lonely, having waned away,
Too old and weak and bowed with care to stay."

Her voice sighed in silence. While she spoke
My heart writhed in me, praying she would cease -
Each word she uttered falling like a stroke
On my bare soul. And now a hush like death,
Save that 'twas broken by a quick-drawn breath,
Fell 'round me, but brought not the hoped-for peace.
For when the lash no longer leaves its blows,
The flesh still quivers, and the blood still flows.

She nestled on my bosom like a child,
And 'neath her head my tortured heart throbbed wild
With pain and pity. She had told her tale -
Her self-deceiving story to the end.
How could I look down on her as she lay
So fair, and sweet, and lily-like, and frail -
A tender blossom on my breast, and say,
"Nay, you are wrong--you do mistake, dear friend!
'Tis I am loved, not you"? Yet that were truth,
And she must know it later.