Hate

My enemy came nigh, And I Stared fiercely in his face. My lips went writhing back in a grimace, And stern I watched him with a narrow eye. Then, as I turned away, my enemy, That bitter heart and savage, said to me: "Some day, when this is past, When all the arrows that we have are cast, We may ask one another why we hate, And fail to find a story to relate. It may seem then to us a mystery That we should hate each other." Thus said he, And did not turn away, Waiting to hear what I might have to say, But I fled quickly, fearing had I stayed I might have kissed him as I would a maid.