THEIR SWEET SORROW

They meet to say farewell: Their way

Of saying this is hard to say.—

He holds her hand an instant, wholly

Distressed — and she unclasps it slowly.

He bends his gaze evasively

Over the printed page that she

Recurs to, with a new-moon shoulder

Glimpsed from the lace-mists that enfold her.

The clock, beneath its crystal cup,

Discreetly clicks — “Quick! Act! Speak up!”

A tension circles both her slender

Wrists — and her raised eyes flash in splendor,

Even as he feels his dazzled own.—

Then, blindingly, round either thrown,

They feel a stress of arms that ever

Strain tremblingly — and “Never! Never!”

Is whispered brokenly, with half

A sob, like a belated laugh,—

While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes,

Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's.