I was another man to another woman,
Tears falling or burnt dry were nothing then. 
I struck your heart, I struck your mind; inhuman,
Future and past I stabbed and stabbed again,
Cursing the very thought of your happiness
        In another love than mine: 

—­Then left you sick to death, and I like death. 
It was a broken body bore me away—­
A broken mind—­poisoned by my own breath,
And love self-poisoned....  Was it but yesterday? 
—­Forgive, forgive, forgive, forgive, forgive,
        Forgive!

JUDGMENT DAY

When through our bodies our two spirits burn
Escaping, and no more our true eyes turn
Outwards, and no more hands to fond hands yearn;

Then over those poor grassy heaps we’ll meet
One morning, tasting still the morning’s sweet,
Sensible still of light, dark, rain, cold, heat;

And see ’neath the green dust that dust of gray
Which was our useless bodies laid away,
Mocked still with menace of a Judgment Day.

We then that waiting dust at last will call,
Each to the other’s,—­“Rise up at last, O small
Ashes that first-love held loveliest of all!

“’Tis Judgment Day, arise!” And they will arise,
The dust will lift, and spine, ribs, neck, head, knees
At the sound remember their old unities,

And stand there, yours with mine, as once they stood
Beloved, obeyed, despised, with that swift blood,
Those looks and trembling lips, heart’s pause and thud.

* * * * *

“And was it these that love-galled thought pursued
And with his immortality indued,
Nor was by their mortality quite subdued?

“This was the bony hand that held my hand,
The shoulders whereon all my world might stand: 
They fell, but in their fall was I unmanned?

“This was the breast my eyes delighted in,
The ribs were faint as now under the skin: 
They mouldered, but not my love mouldered within.

“Away, away!  This was not truly thee—­
A mortal bravery, Time’s delinquency,
A dream that held me from thee, thee from me.

“It was not in these bodies that we drew
Near, nearer:  never, never by these we knew
Transfusion past all sense of ‘I’ and ‘You.’

“It was youth’s blindness held the body so dear: 
Slowly, slowly, year after bewildered year,
The dark thinned and the eyes of love grew clear,

“And thought following thought, enlinking each,
Ran where the delighting body could not reach,
And had speech when there was no voice for speech;

“So that we scarce grieved when those bodies died,
And our eyes more than our true spirits cried;
But as when trees fall, the free wind that sighed

“Awhile in their fond branches ceases not,
But sings a moment over the cumbered spot,
Then flies away:—­our unentangled thought,