 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
309
II.
We met again, as I foresaw we should;
Youth flooded all my veins, and she had grown
To woman's height. yet seemed a rose half-blown.
Like sunset clouds that o'er a landscape brood
Her eyes were, that they might not be withstood;
And like the wind's voice when it takes the tone
Of pine-trees was her voice. I cried, “My own!” —
And kneeling there I worshipped her and wooed.
Youth flooded all my veins, and she had grown
To woman's height. yet seemed a rose half-blown.
Like sunset clouds that o'er a landscape brood
Her eyes were, that they might not be withstood;
And like the wind's voice when it takes the tone
Of pine-trees was her voice. I cried, “My own!” —
And kneeling there I worshipped her and wooed.
O bitter marriage, though inevitable, —
Ordained by Fate, who wrecks or saves our days!
Lo, the changed bride, no longer fair of face,
And in her eyes the very fires of hell!
“Thy name?” I cried; and these words hissing fell:
“Anguish and madness come of my embrace.”
Ordained by Fate, who wrecks or saves our days!
Lo, the changed bride, no longer fair of face,
And in her eyes the very fires of hell!
“Thy name?” I cried; and these words hissing fell:
“Anguish and madness come of my embrace.”
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |