THE FORTY-FIRST DAY 
 
“ I am sick.” 
Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
How things are changed since Alice was so ill ! 
I, being in high fever, lay in bed, 
While my love smoothed the pillows for my head : 
Her calm looks christened me with dew to still 
All chance of fever to the soul, and fill 
My heart with pure love like a snowfall shed 
Meekly, a blossom where frail white and red 
Were never frenzied at some mad god’s will. 
 
She sat and gazed upon me all day long. 
Sometimes she held my hands ; then she would weep, 
And then stoop tenderly and kiss my lips, 
Or lull me with some chaste and gentle song 
Of angel love.  Night’s plume its dewfall drips 
As she still sits and watches me to sleep.  
 
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