Ill
Is it your glance that told me? Nay!
I know you would not look that way.
Seeing, you strove to see not. Fool!
I have ruined all in one rash deed.
Learnt I not in discretion’s school
The little care that lovers need?
For see—I bite my lip to blood ;
A stifled word of anguish hisses :—
O the black word that dams thought’s flood!
O the bad lip that looked for kisses!
O the poor fool that prates of love!
Is it a garter, or a glove?
II