Alice: An Adultery

THE THIRTY-FIRST DAY “ You whoreson villain ! will you let it fall ?” Taming of the Shrew. The inexpiable fate whose shuddering wing Fear fled from, changed the native deed of sin Into a spasmic kiss too salt and keen, Windless, that ended with a sterile sting The earlier hour whose heart was full of spring ; And the large love grew piteously lean ; Dreadful, like death ; withdrawn and epicene At the mad crisis of the eventful thing. O that such tender fondness like a flower’s Should take such nameless infamy ! That we Should pluck such bitter bloom, rooted in fear, Salt with the scurf of some diseaséd sea, Foul with the curse of God : that we are here, Hating the night’s inexorable hours. 71