IF she be to me a saint

And to you a devil be,

Speak not of her, dream not to slander her - faint

Or loud : her purity hath no taint, -

That is enough for me!

You say that her smile is sweet,

You aver that her heart is cold. -

And false is false, tho' God be the cheat.

.... When I come to die, let my winding-sheet

Be her wind-blown hair of gold!

Say no ill of her to my face

Who call yourself my friend.

Shall it be curse for curse - not grace for grace,

And a pitiful look at the burial-place

Of the love her love could end?

If I may not keep both I must

Kiss your hand - Good-by, good-by!

Let His love fail or I cease to trust

Endlessly her .... See, our love is dust; -

You shall answer the charge, not I!

Cold and cruel you call -

Heart-lightless - her eyes of blue,

And her hair of gold a mesh to fall

Tangled in - spread for me and all ...

Dare I deem the hard words true?

Vulgar of spirit, too dull

For higher hopes and fears

Than the little measure, scant or full,

Of evil and good, in the narrow school

Taught by the days and years, -

Lies all! - And saying so

I throw, like a toy, on the floor

My friend for her : she is good, I know;

But love's ghost will come ... and look ... and go ..

I' the innermost corridor!