He had a wife! Why, to a wrecked, forsaken thing like me Did that thought bring a pang? I did not know; But, truth to tell, it gave me stinging pain. If he was noble, he was naught to me; If he was great, it only made me less; If he loved truly, I was not enriched. So, in my selfishness, I almost cursed The unknown woman, thought for whom had brought Her loving husband to me. What was I To him? Naught but a poor unfortunate, Picking her bread up at a needle's point. He'll come and criticise my handiwork, I said, and when it is at last complete, He'll draw his purse and give me so much gold; And then, forgetting me for ever, go And gather fragrant kisses for the boon, From lips that do not know their privilege. I could be nothing but the medium Through which his love should pass to reach its shrine; The glass through which the sun's electric beams Kindles the rose's heart, and still remains Chill and serene itself--without reward! Then came to me the thought of my great wrong. A man had spoiled my heart, degraded me; A wanton woman had defrauded me; I would get reparation how I could! He must be something to me--I to him! All men, however good, are weak, I thought; And if I can arrest no beam of love By right of nature or by leave of law, I'll stain the glass! And the last words I said, As I lay down upon my bed to dream, Were those four words of sin: "I'll stain the glass!" _Grace_. Mary, I cannot hear you more; your tale, So bitter and so passing pitiful I have forgotten tears, and feel my eyes Burn dry and hot with looking at your face, Now gathers blackness, and grows horrible. _Mary_. Nay, you must hear me out; I cannot pause; And have no worse to say than I have said-- Thank God, and him who put away my toils! He came, and came again; and every charm God had bestowed on me, or art could frame, I used with keenest ingenuities To fascinate the sensuous element O'er which, mistrusted, and but half asleep, His conscience and propriety stood guard. I told with tears the story of my woe; He listened to me with a thoughtful face, And sadly sighed; and thus I won his ruth, And then I told him how my life was lost;-- How earth had nothing more for me but pain; Not e'en a friend. At this, he took my hand, And said, out of his nobleness of heart, That I should have an honest friend in him; On which I bowed my head upon his arm, And wept again, as if my heart would break With the full pressure of his gratitude. He put me gently off, and read my face: I stood before him hopeless, helpless, his! His swift soul gathered what I meant it should. He sighed and trembled; then he crossed the floor, And gazed with eye abstracted on the sky; Then came and looked at me; then turned, As if affrighted at his springing thoughts, And, with abruptest movement, left the room.