SHE was false, and he was true, -- Thus their lives were rent apart; 'Twas his dagger driven through A mad rival's heart. He was shut away. The moon May not find him; nor the stars -- Nay, nor yet the sun of noon Pierce his prison bars. She was left -- again to sin -- Mistress of all siren arts: The poor, soulless heroine Of a hundred hearts! Though she dare not think of him Who believed her lies, and so Sent a ghost adown the dim Path she dreads to go, -- He, in fancy, smiling, sips Of her kisses, purer yet Than the dew upon the lips Of the violet. |