We might have been so happy here, with none to spoil our loving—
As I, a guilty one, might kiss a corpse's waiting brow,
I bend to you where you have fallen, and calmly kiss you now;
As I, a wronged and injured one, might seek escape's glad door,
I wander forth into the world, to enter here no more.
III.
Rob, the Pauper, is lying in state.
In a box of rough-planed boards, unpainted,
He waits at the poor-house graveyard gate,
For a home by human lust untainted.