Lucky woman, she has missed The love that tortured while it kissed. Love that knew the lust of blood; That chewed on hatred's bitter cud. Love to her was meat and bread, Four walls, a roof, the marriage-bed. Warmth of hearth and candle-light . . . Why does she stare awake at night? Are not babies opium For hearts like hers, forever dumb? Why should yearning pierce her through For all the ills she never knew? |