Outside the Window
“My stick!” he says, and turns in the laneTo the house just left, whence a vixen voiceComes out with the firelight through the pane,And he sees within that the girl of his choiceStands rating her mother with eyes aglareFor something said while he was there.
“At last I behold her soul undraped!”Thinks the man who had loved her more than himself;“My God—’tis but narrowly I have escaped.—My precious porcelain proves it delf.”His face has reddened like one ashamed,And he steals off, leaving his stick unclaimed.
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