OF THE FLESH

We met upon the street;

Quick passion sprung into the eye of each;

No dilettante heat!

For though I do not love her now, beseech

You, signor, do you think

We could face so in any spot, nor fear

To leap the fatal brink

Into each other's arms — that, once a-near,

Hell's self could make us shrink?

No, no! Such love as ours

Stabbed peace heart-deep and burnt the flesh to mad.

It scorned the simple powers

Of sympathy and mild repose, and had

One thirst alone — to hold

Each other mouth to still unsated mouth

Until, perchance, the cold

And damp of death should end some night its drouth.

But only day would come,

Unlock our arms and show us duty's eye

Calm, pale, and sternly dumb.

And so we'd swear never to kiss or sigh

Again — for well we knew

God grants such boons only to man and wife.

But night distilled the dew

Of loneliness — and so, once more, that life.

And how was the spell burst?

Each long embrace seemed sweeter than the last;

Each dulling heart-beat nurst

The shame, until I tore me from the past,

And cried, “I hate my soul,

And thine and this false love!” She fainted — fell.

I kissed her lips... stole

The ring that choked her finger... said farewell.

And since then Time has pressed

Ten restless years. But if I saw her lay

Her hand upon her breast,

As once she used, and send her soul to say

A word with those dark eyes...

Ha, what is that, signor? “Respect?... My wife?”

That's as may be. You rise?

Adieu, signor. Fate deals the cards in life.