“She Charged Me”
She charged me with having said this and thatTo another woman long years before,In the very parlour where we sat,—
Sat on a night when the endless pourOf rain on the roof and the road belowBent the spring of the spirit more and more . . .
—So charged she me; and the Cupid’s bowOf her mouth was hard, and her eyes, and her face,And her white forefinger lifted slow.
Had she done it gently, or shown a traceThat not too curiously would she viewA folly passed ere her reign had place,
A kiss might have ended it. But I knewFrom the fall of each word, and the pause between,That the curtain would drop upon us twoEre long, in our play of slave and queen.
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