Modern Love: XXXV

It is no vulgar nature I have wived. Secretive, sensitive, she takes a wound Deep to her soul, as if the sense had swooned, And not a thought of vengeance had survived. No confidences has she: but relief Must come to one whose suffering is acute. O have a care of natures that are mute! They punish you in acts: their steps are brief. What is she doing? What does she demand From Providence or me? She is not one Long to endure this torpidly, and shun The drugs that crowd about a woman’s hands. At Forfeits during snow we played, and I Must kiss her. ‘Well performed!’ I said: then she: ‘’T is hardly worth the money, you agree?’ Save her? What for? To act this wedded lie!