Her Dilemma

THE two were silent in a sunless church,

      Whose mildewed walls, uneven paving-stones,

    And wasted carvings passed antique research;

      And nothing broke the clock's dull monotones.

    Leaning against a wormy poppy-head,

      So wan and worn that he could scarcely stand,

    —For he was soon to die,—he softly said,

      "Tell me you love me!"—holding hard her hand.

    She would have given a world to breathe "yes" truly,

      So much his life seemed hanging on her mind,

    And hence she lied, her heart persuaded throughly,

      'Twas worth her soul to be a moment kind.

    But the sad need thereof, his nearing death,

      So mocked humanity that she shamed to prize

    A world conditioned thus, or care for breath

      Where Nature such dilemmas could devise.