Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Charlesde Kay998 Ulf in Ireland
W
Husband, husband;
What though thou see’st my red lips burn,
Why look’st thou with a look so stern,
Husband?
Husband, husband:
’T was wind made sharp with sword-edge reed
That made my tender lips to bleed,
Husband.
Woman, woman?
Can light wind mark like human tooth
A shameful scar of love uncouth,
Woman?
Husband, husband?
What lurking horror strains your eyes,
What black thoughts from your heart arise,
Husband?
Woman, woman?
Who stood so near you by the gate
No moon your shapes could separate,
Woman?
Husband, husband!
So Christ me save, ’t was I alone
Stood listening to the ocean moan,
Husband!
Woman, woman!
Thy Christ hath lent thee four at least,
Oh, viler than four-footed beast,
Woman!
Husband, husband!
A foul witchcraft, alas, unmanned:
Thou saw’st some old tracks down the sand,
Husband!
Woman, woman;
Those ancient foot-marks went not far,
Or else you search the harbor bar,
Woman.
Woman, woman;
Smooth lips not yours may also bleed,
Your wound has been avenged with speed,
Woman!
Husband, husband?
What ghastly sign of sudden wound
And kinsman smitten to the ground,
Husband?
Woman, woman;
The moon had marked his treacherous cheek,
I marked his heart beside the creek,
Woman!
Husband, husband!
Among our weeds the only flower?
Henceforward get you from my bower,
Husband!
Husband, husband!
In all the world I loved but him;
Not hell my love for Brenn shall dim,
Husband!
Sorrow, sorrow!
He ’s bent her head back by the hair
Till all her throbbing throat lies bare—
Sorrow!
Woman, woman;
You knew I well am named the wolf;
I shall both you and him engulf,
Woman.
Woman, woman;
To serpents only fools are kind;
Yet still with love of you I ’m blind,
Woman.
Woman, woman;
These eyes shall never read your face,
For you shall die in this small space,
Woman!
Horror!
That throat he kissed below the chin
No breath thereafter entered in:
Horror, horror!