And with that face so saint-like yet so daring—
By Bacchus! as you say here in your swearing,
She is as perfect as a drop of dew!
Yet she is of the South—the counterpart
Of vengeance with its hidden venomed dart....
Hush! for the gargoyles hear!... Though white as curds
That sweet soft hand—the hand that feeds the birds—
If you should hint about it certain words,
Would plunge its poisoned poniard through your heart.
LLOYD MIFFLIN.