We crept along a garden glade by moonbeams dimly lighted;
She silent sat 'mid clustering vines, though much her eyes did speak,
And your black hair was tightly pressed unto her glowing cheek....
It crazed me, but he soothed me sweet with love's unnumbered charms;
I, desolate, turned and threw myself into his desolate arms!
O Rob, you know how little worth, when once a woman slips,
May be the striking down a hand to save herself from falling!
Once more my heart groped for your heart, my tired lips sought your lips:
But 'twas too late—'twas after dark—and you were past recalling.
'Tis hard to claim what once is given; my foe was unrelenting;