Bruised, hard as anger, on her breathless lips,
Fiercer than fire. Leaning lower, then
A whispered, "Lov'st but one? and he?"—And then,
She, with impatience, "Rough and rude thou art!
Why crush me, thou great bear, with such a hug!
Or kill me with such kisses!"—Then, as soft
As some rich rose syllabling musk and dew,
"And whom I love?—ah, Edric, need I say!"...
Then he, fierce-smiling, swiftly, without word,
His countenance harsh-writhen into hate's