Poems (Henley)/A late lark twitters from the quiet skies
XXXVI
I have my heart to a woman— I gave it her, branch and root.She bruised, she wrung, she tortured, She cast it under foot.
Under her feet she cast it, She trampled it where it fell,She broke it all to pieces, And each was a clot of hell.
There in the rain and the sunshine They lay and smouldered long;And each, when again she viewed them, Had turned to a living song.