I guessed for whom he held it.
I recked not, while he flaunted by,
Of Love's relentless vi'lence
Yet o'er me crashed the summer sky,
In thunders of blue silence.
"His hoof-prints crumbled down the dale,
But left behind their lava;
What should have been my woman's mail
Grew jellied as guava.
I looked him proud, but 'neath my pride