'Tis in the power of woman, if she be
Whole-souled and noble, free from coquetry -
Her motives all unselfish, worthy, good,
To make herself and feelings understood
By nameless acts, thus sparing what to man,
However gently answered, causes pain,
The offering of his hand and heart in vain.

She can be friendly, unrestrained, and kind
Assume no airs of pride or arrogance;
But in her voice, her manner, and her glance,
Convey that mystic something, undefined,
Which men fail not to understand and read,
And, when not blind with egoism, heed.
My task was harder--'twas the slow undoing
Of long sweet months of unimpeded wooing.
It was to hide and cover and conceal
The truth, assuming what I did not feel.
It was to dam love's happy singing tide
That blessed me with its hopeful, tuneful tone
By feigned indiff'rence, till it turned aside
And changed its channel, leaving me alone
To walk parched plains, and thirst for that sweet draught
My lips had tasted, but another quaffed.
It could be done, for no words yet were spoken -
None to recall--no pledges to be broken.
"He will be grieved, then angry, cold, then cross,"
I reasoned, thinking what would be his part
In this strange drama. "Then, because he