 | To the end of the trail |  |
FALSE TRUTH
Oh! stab me with denial of your love,But do not torture me in this slow hell
Of thoughts I dare not tell the stars above,
Of fears I dare not hear the night winds tell!
If this be truth, oh! tell me any lie,
And I will wear my heart upon my sleeve,
Build me an altar where the words may lie
And make it my religion to believe!
But let it not be truth that you should give
Accustomed kisses lest a robber lack,
Not filch from Love his high prerogative
That Mercy wear false ermine on her back!
Let him be starved—and starve me if you will—
But not for less than love smite love and kill!
August, 1898.
| To the end of the trail | |