The Scar
Upon my life I bear one precious scar:
Each night I kiss it, till anew it bleeds,
And tell each drop of blood, as hallowed beads
Are told by those dear few who faithful are.
To me it seems to beautify, not mar,
My inner self, for from that deep wound leads
A path to gained respect, my secret needs
Quenched by the bleeding of that fountain are.
The fiery contest when that wound was won,
Still burns within my brain, and robs of life,
And terror, every lesser hurt that's done
To heart or spirit; let all harm run rife.
I shall not fear again to look upon
The gleaming edges of Fate's sharpest knife.
Out At Sea
The sea was witness of the words you said :
She hushed her every tide that she might hear
Your whispered love, and while you bent so near
My bosom, laying down your weary head
To rest thereon—the corals in their bed
Stirred with emotion, shaken as with fear,
And foam grew paler, passionately drear
As some wan smile, upon a face that 's dead.
I took your hand in mine, your living hand !
And pressed it closer, closer in mine own.
A nameless terror shocked me while I scanned
Your ardent face ; there rose a stifled moan
To part my lips; I saw the future stand
Before me, and behold! I was alone.
