Lota - Part II

A poem on Unrequited Love, by Augusta Webster

Page 45

Sudden she broke
Her cry of anguish, would have laughed it off
With a laugh that quivered twitching round the lips.
But Gervase brooked no laughter; both her hands
Were fast in his, his eyes burned into hers.
"Lota I cannot lose you! Is he dead?
Is there nothing in your heart that calls him dead?"

"He was not dead" she said; and all her face
Was curdled into wanness. Then she cried,
Writhing with an intolerable pain,
"My God! My God! do I long to have him dead?
Oh Gervase, hush! he was not dead. Oh! hush,
And let me go."

He put her gently back,
And stood away from her. "Be calm again.
I will not scare you: do not ask yourself
If he is dead or living; I will know.
And, Lota, when, as a strong faith in my breast
Assures me, I come back to you with news
That he is dead, you will be innocent,
Most innocent, of any brooded hope
To name a longing."

But she sat and wept,
And short sharp tremors shook her, as the leaves
Are shaken on their boughs by gusts in spring,
And so he asked her, "There is something yet
I would be told. By what chance are you here?"


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