The Story
of Saville
That he dare not pluck it forth of his heart, since all that was lovely therein
Was tendrilled and knotted with what was evil in union so vital and strong
That which was tainted and which was pure he wist not, nor right from wrong.
“Now surely this were a sin,” mused Kyrle, “or a cowardice, which is worse,—
A month ago I had spurned the thought away from me with a curse.
What should such fellows as I do,” forsooth? and Hamlet as good as his word,
Weak, irresolute, yet put by the plea of temptation unheard,—
Yes,—and thanks to his reasoning so unimpeachably sound,
To this Alpine glimmer of purpose high in his brain’s fantastical round,
His poor, poor love with her pansied hands and her daisied tresses lay drowned!
And Oh! he was weary of prudence, that frigid fanatical nun,—
In her hateful name what straits he had seen, what tasks superhuman had done,
