Poem 9 (Her lips were open—not a sound…)

Her lips were open—not a sound Came through the parted lines of red. Whate'er it was, the hideous wound In silence and in secret bled. No sigh relieved her speechless woe, She had no voice to speak her dread.

And in her lurid eyes there shone The dying flame of life's desire, Made mad because its hope was gone, And kindled at the leaping fire Of jealousy, and fierce revenge, And strength that could not change nor tire.

Shade of a shadow in the glass, O set the crystal surface free! Pass—as the fairer visions pass— Nor ever more return, to be The ghost of a distracted hour, That heard me whisper, "I am she!"