And more than this: for Lion touched a sense That he, the honest humdrum man, was more Than he by whom the glory and the offence Came to her life three bitter years before. This was a treason in her being’s core; It smouldered there; meanwhile as two good friends They met at autumn dusks and winter daylight-ends. And once, after long twilight talk, he broke His strong restraint upon his passion for her, And burningly, most like a man he spoke, Until her pity almost overbore her. It could not be, she said; her pity tore her; But still it could not be, though this was pain. Then on a frosty night they met and spoke again. And then he wooed again, clutching her hands, Calling the maid his mind, his heart, his soul, Saying that God had linked their lives in bands When the worm Life first started from the goal; That they were linked together, past control, Linked from all time, could she but pity; she Pitied him from the soul, but said it could not be. "Mary," he asked, "you cannot love me? No?" "No," she replied; "would God I could, my dear." "God bless you, then," he answered, "I must go, Go over sea to get away from here, I cannot think of work when you are near; My whole life falls to pieces; it must end. This meeting now must be ’good-bye,’ beloved friend." White-lipped she listened, then with failing breath, She asked for yet a little time; her face Was even as that of one condemned to death. She asked for yet another three months’ grace, Asked it, as Lion inly knew, in case Michael should still return; and "Yes" said he, "I’ll wait three months for you, beloved; let it be." Slowly the three months dragged: no Michael came. March brought the daffodils and set them shaking. April was quick in Nature like green flame; May came with dog-rose buds, and corncrakes craking, Then dwindled like her blossom; June was breaking. "Mary," said Lion, "can you answer now?" White like a ghost she stood, he long remembered how. Wild-eyed and white, and trembling like a leaf, She gave her answer, "Yes"; she gave her lips, Cold as a corpse’s to the kiss of grief, Shuddering at him as if his touch were whips. Then her best nature, struggling to eclipse This shrinking self, made speech; she jested there; They searched each other’s eyes, and both souls saw despair. So the first passed, and after that began A happier time: she could not choose but praise That recognition of her in the man Striving to salve her pride in myriad ways; He was a gentle lover: gentle days Passed like a music after tragic scenes; Her heart gave thanks for that; but still the might-have-beens Haunted her inner spirit day and night, And often in his kiss the memory came Of Michael’s face above her, passionate, white, His lips at her lips murmuring her name, Then she would suffer sleepless, sick with shame, And struggle with her weakness. She had vowed To give herself to Lion; she was true and proud.