 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
“TURPE SENILIS AMOR.”
I seemed so old and she a simple child,
Who liked to be my plaything and my pet,
Though this old heart had feelings warm and wild
That human cravings still could not forget;
She told me how she loved another, fair
In her young eyes as was the rising sun—
How wedded were their lives, like word and air,
That long to music had together run;
And, all the while, deep down the sleeping fire
Kept gnawing at my heart, until at length
It woke in hungry madness of desire,
As wakes a raging giant in his strength.
Who liked to be my plaything and my pet,
Though this old heart had feelings warm and wild
That human cravings still could not forget;
She told me how she loved another, fair
In her young eyes as was the rising sun—
How wedded were their lives, like word and air,
That long to music had together run;
And, all the while, deep down the sleeping fire
Kept gnawing at my heart, until at length
It woke in hungry madness of desire,
As wakes a raging giant in his strength.
And on she babbled in her artless way,
Nor dreamed her grace in me could kindle love—
In one so old, with head already gray,
Who should such earthly weakness soar above;
But, as she talked, the rosy colour came
And went, like radiance from a heavenly fount,
It trembled on her rounded cheek, as flame
Poured by the morning on a snowy mount;
It seemed to send its beauty through my heart,
Burning and beating, and each tender look
So innocent, yet made my passion start
Up in armed might, and all my being shook.
Nor dreamed her grace in me could kindle love—
In one so old, with head already gray,
Who should such earthly weakness soar above;
But, as she talked, the rosy colour came
And went, like radiance from a heavenly fount,
It trembled on her rounded cheek, as flame
Poured by the morning on a snowy mount;
It seemed to send its beauty through my heart,
Burning and beating, and each tender look
So innocent, yet made my passion start
Up in armed might, and all my being shook.
Each thrilling word was as a dagger thrust
Right in my breast, where bright her image dwelt,
And still I could not murder her sweet trust,
Nor dare to breathe a whisper what I felt;
I had to mete her sympathy, and give
Grave counsel, and act out a hideous lie—
To hope her lover long might love and live,
When my fierce yearning wished he then could die;
I had to listen calmly to his praise,
While my fond need I might not ever tell,
And him with honour of my own upraise,
When fain would I have dashed him into hell.
Right in my breast, where bright her image dwelt,
And still I could not murder her sweet trust,
Nor dare to breathe a whisper what I felt;
I had to mete her sympathy, and give
Grave counsel, and act out a hideous lie—
94
When my fierce yearning wished he then could die;
I had to listen calmly to his praise,
While my fond need I might not ever tell,
And him with honour of my own upraise,
When fain would I have dashed him into hell.
Her eyes grew bigger, brighter, as she laid
Her life's young dream all open to my sight,
In pleading frankness, pure, and half afraid,
As on her brow broke that unearthly light;
And her whole form, with its transforming glow
Seemed bathed in heaven, and gathered in its arms
Whate'er makes woman beautiful below,
And lifts us upward with its angel charms;
And still I heard, and strove with measured ease,
Strong (though I reeled) to play my hated part,
With tortured care to say but what would please,
While pains of damnéd souls were at my heart.
Her life's young dream all open to my sight,
In pleading frankness, pure, and half afraid,
As on her brow broke that unearthly light;
And her whole form, with its transforming glow
Seemed bathed in heaven, and gathered in its arms
Whate'er makes woman beautiful below,
And lifts us upward with its angel charms;
And still I heard, and strove with measured ease,
Strong (though I reeled) to play my hated part,
With tortured care to say but what would please,
While pains of damnéd souls were at my heart.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |