V

I see her face, as once before, Bewildered with its terror, pressed To the dark, polished floor; distressed, Clasped in her blind and covering hands; So desolate with anguish, wrenched With wild remorse, no man could see, Could see and turn away like me, No man that sees and understands Love and its mortal agony. Again, like some automaton, Part of that ghostly tragedy, Myself I see, the fool who fled, Who sneered and fled. And then again Came stealing back. Again, with blenched And bending face I stand, and clenched And icy hands, and staring eyes, Looking upon her face, as wan As water; eyes all wide with pain; Cramped to dilation, packed with loss: Again I seem to lean across The years, and hear my heart's deep groan Above the young gold of her head, Above that huddled heap alone,-- Her, white and dead.