Lota - Part II

A poem on Unrequited Love, by Augusta Webster

Page 20

"But I" - he said.

"But you," she broke in eagerly, "I know
What you will say; you never did me wrong.
Ah! no; it is for you to pardon me,
If you can pardon. Gervase, never think
That I forgot you loved me, did not care.
Oh! I was base towards you, keeping so
My cold disloyal silence, I was base:
No hottest cruelest long pain of pride
Stung by her dreadful blame should have prevailed
Against my yearning once to speak to you,
Once, if by no more than dull written words,
To -

"Gervase, Gervase let me say it now,
All I may say. Forgive me, oh forgive!"

And with that cry she slid down to the floor,
And so, half lying with her face hid close
Against the cushion of her chair, sobbed out
With quick convulsive weeping, "Let me be"
She cried "Oh let me be."

But Gervase still
Would soothe her, lifted her in his strong arms,
Smiled in her face and kissed her. "My own love"
He said "Do you love me? Tell me only that."

But she was silent.

"Well," he said, "still keep
Sweet silence, I will think it is a yes."
Then she cried weeping "Oh! I love you well,
Too well, but never talk of love again:
Be pitiful."


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