Men were her puppets to control; Unconscious of a heart or soul She lived, and gloried in the ease She purchased by her power to please The eye and senses. Life’s one woe Which caused her pitying tears to flow Was poverty. Though hearts might break And homes be ruined for her sake, She showed no mercy. But when need Of gold she saw, her heart would bleed. The lack of clothing, fire, and food Was earth’s one pain, she understood.
The suffering poor oft blest her name, Nor questioned whence the ducats came, She gave so freely. Once she found A fainting woman on the ground, A wailing child clasped to her breast. With her own hands she bathed and dressed The weary waifs! gave food and gold And clothed them warmly from the cold, Nor guessed that one she lured from home Had caused that suffering pair to roam Unhoused, neglected. Then one day, Unheralded across her way, The conqueror came. She knew not why, But with the first glance of his eye A feeling, new and unexplained, Woke in her what she oft had feigned. And when his arm stole near her waist, As startled maidens blush with chaste Sweet fear at love’s advances, so She blushed from brow to breast of snow. Strange, new emotions, fraught with joy And pain commingled, made her coy; But when he would have clasped her neck With gems that might a queen bedeck And offered gold, her lips grew white With sudden anger at the sight Of what had been her god for years. She flung them from her. Then such tears As only spring from love’s despair Welled from her eyes. “So, lady fair, My gifts are scorned?” quoth he, and laughed. “Like Cleopatra, you have quaffed Such lordly pearls in draughts of wine, You spurn poor simple gems like mine. Well, well, fair queen, I’ll bring to you A richer gift next time. Adieu.”
His light words stung like lash of whip; With gasping breath and ashen lip She strove to speak, but he was gone She kneeled and pressed her mouth upon The latch his hand had touched, the floor His foot had trod, and o’er and o’er She sobbed his name, as children moan A mother’s name when left alone.
Out from the dim and roseate gloom And subtle odours of her room Accusing memories rose. She felt A loneliness that seemed to belt The universe in its embrace. It was as if from some high place A giant hand had reached and hurled To nothingness her petty world, And left her staring, awed, alone, Up into regions vast, unknown. There is no other loneliness That can so sadden and oppress As when beside the burned-out fire Of sated passion and desire The wakening spirit, in a glance, Beholds its lost inheritance. She rose and turned the dim lights higher, Brought forth rich gems and grand attire, And robed herself in feverish haste; Before the mirror posed and paced, With jewels on her breast and wrists; Then sudden clenched her little fists And beat her face until it bled, And tore her garments shred from shred, Gazed in the mirror, spoke her name And hissed a word that told her shame, Then on her knees fell sobbing there.
