THE TWENTY-SIXTH DAY 
 
“ I think the devil will not have me damned. 
. . . he would never else cross me thus.” 
Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
This time she set her will against my will ; 
Swore that she would not come :  in my despair 
I half believed her an enchantress fair 
Cruel as hell and dowered with subtle skill 
To strain my life out with her love, and kill 
My soul with misery :  suddenly a rare 
Swift smile set shimmering all the ambient air, 
And then I knew she was my true love still. 
 
She would not come ?  Why, were Hell’s portals fast 
Shut, as to Orpheus on Eurydice, 
Their brass would break before love’s gold and steel, 
The sharpness inlaid with sweet tracery 
Of talismans of virtue :  she is leal 
To come and live and be my love at last. 
 
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