 | Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) |  |
113
SUB ROSÂ.
(Paris: Second Empire.)
She is quite the queen of the town
Since he married her, three years since,
He, near of kin to a prince
Who narrowly missed a crown.
Since he married her, three years since,
He, near of kin to a prince
Who narrowly missed a crown.
A terrible match, on my life!
The old prince looked dark for days.
Then, quite on a sudden, he pays
High court to his kinsman's wife.
The old prince looked dark for days.
Then, quite on a sudden, he pays
High court to his kinsman's wife.
'Twas her beauty that did it all,
And her mellow voice, and her style
Of letting that mobile smile
Lie just as her sweet lips' call.
And her mellow voice, and her style
Of letting that mobile smile
Lie just as her sweet lips' call.
She came from .. Heaven knows where;
From Heaven itself, some said,
With her stars of eyes, and her head
Folded over by shining hair.
From Heaven itself, some said,
With her stars of eyes, and her head
Folded over by shining hair.
And now, in her new grand life,
She is free from the worst tongue's blame.
No slander assails her name
Of spotless woman and wife.
She is free from the worst tongue's blame.
No slander assails her name
Of spotless woman and wife.
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And the vanquished old prince, they say,
Makes her state just so much more grand
By bending to kiss her hand,
In his portly and courtly way.
Makes her state just so much more grand
By bending to kiss her hand,
In his portly and courtly way.
Now I chance to know and be sure
That this woman's rich robe is borne
Each week up a stair forlorn
Of a certain dwelling obscure.
That this woman's rich robe is borne
Each week up a stair forlorn
Of a certain dwelling obscure.
And in a dull room where she peers,
Is a child (having just her sweet face)
That she clutches with fierce embrace,
And low little moanings, and tears.
Is a child (having just her sweet face)
That she clutches with fierce embrace,
And low little moanings, and tears.
Then down the dim stair she will go,
And gaining the street, glide out.
She would have that child killed, no doubt,
If 'twere not that she loved it so!...
And gaining the street, glide out.
She would have that child killed, no doubt,
If 'twere not that she loved it so!...
How the past in its look must speak
(Half her shame and half her delight!),
While she hides it here out of sight,
Stealing up to it once a week!
(Half her shame and half her delight!),
While she hides it here out of sight,
Stealing up to it once a week!
And the world, which is now her slave,
How little its laugh would spare
If the ghouls of scandal could tear
That past of hers from its grave!
How little its laugh would spare
If the ghouls of scandal could tear
That past of hers from its grave!
| Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) | |