When her soft eyes across the twilight burned;
But suddenly, around her amber neck,
The golden beads would sparkle as she turned.
_And I remembered_; swift mine eyelids fell
To hide the hate that festered in my soul,
Ever more deeply, with the rising fear
That Love might wrench Revenge from my control.
But when at last she, acquiescent, lay
In the sweet-scented shadow of the firs,
Lovely and broken, granting—asking—all,