No blow, no threat, no movement of the hand.
No word burst from the leash of calm control,
Betraying passions slumbering in the soul;
But friendship's added years could not withstand
A curve that rose unbidden and unplanned
From the flexed silence of the lips--a dart
That struck, rending the texture of the heart,
And, entering deeper, seared like a brand.
Some years have passed. To-day, no lure of mine
Restores the confidence he gave of old;
The outer court of strangers with its forms
Of soulless exchange--there we meet. The shrine
Within where sacred fires once burned is cold,
And love no more the ashen altar warms.