TREACHERY

She had amid her ringlets bound

Green leaves to rival their dark hue;

How could such locks with beauty bound

Dry up their dew,

Wither them through and through?

She had within her dark eyes lit

Sweet fires to burn all doubt away;

Yet did those fires, in darkness lit,

Burn but a day,

Not even till twilight stay.

She had within a dusk of words

A vow in simple splendour set;

How, in the memory of such words,

Could she forget

That vow — the soul of it?