Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/37

Here the grey spider had circled them o'er,
Hand to hand tied,
In their clasped fingers lay hidden his store,
There, too, he spied.

I was the fool then who linked in that clasp
Each skeleton hand;
Thus!—will I be he who loosens the grasp,
How was it planned?

Here is a phial: was death then so sweet,
Honour or life?
This was the only way lovers could meet—
She was a wife.

Wrapped in death's silence, safe from my scorn;
He was my friend:
It was his love whom I bore home that mom,
His to the end!

Was it the woman who plotted and spied,
Using my heart
Just for a stone there to step where the tide
Kept them apart?

Was he a coward, lying lowly to wait,
Giving me blame?
Vain do I strike him, avenging my fate.
Cursed be his name!

She was my love: did she bid him believe
I for his sake
Cast away honour to stoop and deceive.
Bore him the stake?

He was my friend: dare I doubt him and know?
What if it be
Nothing he knew of her coming—the blow
That fell on me?