THE BRIDEGROOM 71
Such songs were hers. What song is hers to-night
When she is smitten in her bridal bed,
Because I would not trust the God that gave
Her smooth virginity to godlier might,
My glory? There she lies divine and dead
Because I would not trust the sullen wave
Of time; and chose this way—her grave.
I had not thought the poison left her so—
Smiling, enticing, exquisite. I meant
Rather that beauty to destroy, to leave
No subtle languors on that breast of snow,
No curves by God’s caressing finger bent,
To bid me think of her: I would deceive
My memory—now I can but grieve.
Perhaps our happiness, despite of all,
Would have grown comelier and never tired;
Perhaps the pitiful pale face had been
Alway my true wife’s; let me not recall
Her first shy glance! This woman I desired,
And sealed my own for ever by this keen
Death that crowns her Death’s queen.
Death’s and not mine: I was a fool to kiss
Her dead lips—aye, her living lips for that !
I cannot bid her rise and live again.
I would not. Nay, I know not; for is this
My triumph or my ruin, satiate
Of death, insatiate alway of pain ?
What have I done? In vain, in vain!