THE FORTIETH DAY 
 
“ Away, you rascally Althea’s dream, away ! ” 
II., King Henry IV. 
 
Mere terror struck into our souls, one shaft 
Sudden and swift ; our punishment was here. 
The shapeless form of an avenging fear 
Shuddered within her ; from the deep rich draught 
Of lively labour that her nights had quaffed 
Rises a serpent :  prescience of next year, 
The springtide ; may the Minotaur appear, 
Prodigious offspring of the fatal graft ? 
 
The worst has happened.  Time must now discover 
What love had hidden from the wittol’s eyes 
(What hate may tell him if he read my song, 
If he be subtle :  not if he be wise) 
In our despair came laughter to my lover : 
“ All’s well as yet.  I calculated wrong.” 
 
81