Denzil place a story in verse. By Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] |
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122
The kind sad letter of her outraged lord
But now she felt as is supposed to feel
The worm that has been trampled till it turns,—
The malice lurking in each spiteful line,
The pent-up poison flowing from this pen,
Let loose at last, as from the adder's tongue—
The base injustice, the impatient wish
Thus to exaggerate and multiply
Her fault, all this directed at herself
She did not dare resent—it was deserved—
But what she felt she never could forgive
Were those envenom'd arrows aim'd at him
Her love, her life; the angry crimson blood
Rush'd to her cheek as she read o'er again
Each bitter accusation. Well she knew
That he had fallen from his high resolve,
But then her heart would have it that he fell
Fighting against some superhuman pow'r—
A power he had striven with for years—
She would not think that that belovèd form
Concealed a cruel calculating heart
Such as she heard had sometimes lurk'd beneath
A mien deceptive. Yet these lying lines
| Denzil place | |