BETRAYAL

She will not die, they say,

She will but put her beauty by

And hie away.

Oh, but her beauty gone, how lonely

Then will seem all reverie,

How black to me!

All things will sad be made

And every hope a memory,

All gladness dead.

Ghosts of the past will know

My weakest hour, and whisper to me,

And coldly go.

And hers in deep of sleep,

Clothed in its mortal beauty I shall see,

And, waking, weep.

Naught will my mind then find

In man's false Heaven my peace to be:

All blind, and blind.