40
SWEET MARIE
All still you stood a moment with your eyes
Fixed on him for some mercy, but his face
Half turned in scorning; so, like one who dies,
You moaned, and ran to hide in your disgrace.
And I had struck him, but he fell to tears,
And loud lamenting, crying, “Oh, the gold
That was my life. O death-inflicting shears,
To rob the perfumed locks I loved to hold!”
I spumed him, told the sacrifice, and bid
Him go and seek you, praying you forgive,
But he with laughter scorned me as I chid,
“I'll seek some other tresses, so I live.”
I struck him then, for I was sick, in truth.
Of my long hatred; he went down to lie
Beside his dog, who was the nobler brute.
And wept that he was slain and soon to die.
