V
Between the day that struck her old,
And this black star of days,
Her heart swung like a storm-bell tolled
Above a town ablaze.
VI
His beauty pressed to intercede,
His beauty served him ill.
—Not Vengeance, ’tis his rebel’s deed,
’Tis Justice, not our will!
VII
Yet who had sprung to life’s full force
A breast that loveless dried?
But who had sapped it at the source,
With scarlet to her pride!
VIII
He brought her waning heart as ’twere
New message from the skies.
And he betrayed, and left on her
The burden of their sighs.
IX
In floods her tender memories poured;
They foamed with waves of spite:
She crushed them, high her heart outsoared,
To keep her mind alight.