Alice: An Adultery

II Ah ! there be two sides to all shapes of truth ! I might indeed go back to bitter toil, Prune the mind’s vine, and gather in the spoil Rough-conquered from books, men, fields, without ruth Pillaging Nature, pawning strength and youth For some strange guerdon (or its counterfoil) Gainless or not-to-be-gained, priestly or royal, Profane, canaille—I know not, in good sooth ! I might do this : or else I might repose Wrapped in the urned leaves of my love’s blown rose, Seek her in spirit, and commune, and wait Her freedom and the rapture to enclose In my own house her beauty intimate. I am a fool, tossing a coin with Fate. 93