! I have learned to smile,
I have taught my eyes to lie,
I have lived and laughed and sung--the while
I have only longed to die.

XII.

I have seen him once again,
There in the throng with his wife
(An eagle matched with a pitiful wren!)
Bitter in sooth has his portion been--
Chained to a clog for life!
Strange that our eyes as of yore should meet
And hold each other a breathless space,
That the dawn-light of old should illumine his face,
That the lips that were stern should an instant grow sweet,
Touched with the old-time tender grace.
But his eyes were haggard and old with pain
(Traitors to thwart his resolute will!)
They told me the struggle was vain--all vain!
He loves me--loves me still.

XIII.

Cruel! that I should be glad
That he loves and suffers still,
Yet how should my soul be sad
That his passionate, resolute will
Cannot crush the love that is stronger than he,
The love that is all for me!

The year has left its trace
(Cover it how he will!)
On the proud, impassive face
And I know how he suffers still--
Thrall to a love that is stronger than he,
A love that is all for me.

Surely, ah surely, I know
I who have known his love,
I who have loved him so,
What such a bond must prove,
Linked to a loveless, unloved wife,
Chained to a clog for life!

XIV.

She loves him not, they say,
Save for his lands and gold;
She is narrow, selfish, cold,
Stabbing and wounding his soul each day,
Growing further and further away
From the heart it was hers to hold.

Yet not all blameless he,
A woman is quick to feel
What man would fain conceal;
Surely she can but see
That naught to his life is she,
Nay--nor can ever be!

I am happier--happier far--than he;
He is meshed in a galling silken hold,
Bound with a jewelled band of gold;
While I, at least, am free.
And I know what his daily life must be.
Linked with a nature paltry, slight,
He with his generous, kingly soul,
Stung and goaded past all control
By a thousand petty barbs of venom and spite.

Once, but once have we met,
And we spoke of trivial things,
Of the changes a twelvemonth brings,
Of late Summer, lingering yet...
(Ah, how should a heart that has loved forget?)
Traitors ever to thwart his will
His eyes confirm what I half divine.
A bitter, bootless victory mine,
He cannot choose but to love me still!

XV.

Whose was the fault, the blame?
She has fl