In the vaulted way, where the passage turned

To the shadowy corner that none could see,

You paused for our parting,—plaintively;

Though overnight had come words that burned

My fond frail happiness out of me.

And then I kissed you,—despite my thought

That our spell must end when reflection came

On what you had deemed me, whose one long aim

Had been to serve you; that what I sought

Lay not in a heart that could breathe such blame.

But yet I kissed you; whereon you again

As of old kissed me.  Why, why was it so?

Do you cleave to me after that light-tongued blow?

If you scorned me at eventide, how love then?

The thing is dark, Dear.  I do not know.