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Page 7
Lionel.
Yes, crane your neck in the old way, flash down
Superb bright scorning from your hooded eyes.
Wife's duty, yes, you'll never shame that, child;
You'll make this sin of yours shine out at last
Like virtue by your married perfectness.
I can believe it. But you'd make me laugh,
Were't not for shuddering that you are so fooled
To your blind venture by a moral shred
Of heartlessness. "Kind husbands make good wives,
And good wives love their husbands" - very sage -
And prudent mothers preach it to their girls,
And the pith of it is "Do not choose by love,
But look to means; because a man who's poor
Must be unkind, for want of cash to spend
Upon his wife." And so you're all agreed,
You and your family, Sir Joyce will be
A model husband, (he's so rich), and make,
By paying bills, and giving jewelry,
The typed good wife of you. But do you think,
You who at least have known that loving means
A something more than Thank yous, than replies
Of a civil sort, and easy going smiles,
And a fattening placid womanly goodwill
To a comfortable master, can learn now
To cheat your heart with such a dull content,
And be at rest and bask? You, Eleanor!
You'll pine to love as a caged sparrow pines
To fly, you'll tear and break your useless wings
With beating at the bars, or else you'll mope
In obstinate tired stillness; you'll not thrive
On caged birds' food, and sing. Oh! you are mad.
You do not know yourself. Oh! child, be warned.
Why will you curse your youth with such a life?
Nay, let me speak to you - let me speak still.
I have not spoken to you of myself:
I would not beg for mercy, let you find
What a poor quivering wretch a man may be
Before the little blow from a light hand
That breaks his heart: I dared not even say
"Tis something hard on me," lest I should bare
A foolish throbbing anguish for myself
'Twere fitter to keep hidden, and should shock
Your cold ear with such outcry for the pain
As shames a man. But I will tell you once
Because, since you still love me, I believe
It may a little move you, I endure
More grief in this than -
Child, I cannot do it!
I cannot. Oh! the passion will have vent.
Aye, if one could dissect one's living heart
And lecture coldly on it, I might speak
In sober phrases and set out my grief
With due pathetic touches, till perhaps
You'd weep a little for it. Now 'tis I
Who shed a fool's weak tears. Yes, keep your head
Turned from me; you are wise, for if you looked
You might remember, were't but in a mood
Of foolish pity, that I am the man
Who trusted you, set all his hopes on you,
Because he had your promise, loved you past
All thought of treachery from you. Aye, there,
There in one breath is the whole agony,
I love you.
Next |
A Woman Sold
Bartimaeus
Judas
Pilate
The Walk To Emmaus
A Bride
A March Night
A Messenger
A Mother's Cry
A Wedding
Afterwards
Dead Amy
Deserted
Dreaming
Glad Waves
Going
How The Brook Sings
If
In The Storm
In The Sunshine
Looking Downstairs
Mary Lost
Never Again
Night Whispers
On The Lake
On The Shore
Our Lily
Passing Away
Perjured
Safe
Shadow
Sunlight
The Blush Rose
The Gift
The Heiress' Wooer
The Hidden Wound
The Lake
The Land Of Happy Dreams
The Old Year Out
The Red Star On The Hill
The River
The Setting Star
The Shadow Of A Cloud
To And Fro
To One Of Many
Too faithful
Two Maidens |
