He wooed her first in an atmosphere
Of tender and low-breathed sighs;
But the pang of her laugh went cutting clear
To the soul of the enterprise;
“You beg so pert for the kiss you seek
It reminds me, John,” she said,
“Of a poodle pet that jumps to‘ speak’
For a crumb or a crust of bread.”
And flashing up, with the blush that flushed
His face like a tableau-light,
Came a bitter threat that his white lips hushed
To a chill, hoarse-voiced “Good night!”
And again her laugh, like a knell that tolled,
And a wide-eyed mock surprise,—
“Why, John,” she said, “you have taken cold
In the chill air of your sighs!”
And then he turned, and with teeth tight clenched,
He told her he hated her,—
That his love for her from his heart he wrenched
Like a corpse from a sepulcher.
And then she called him “a ghoul all red
With the quintessence of crimes” —
“But I know you love me now,” she said,
And kissed him a hundred times.