Far off, across the turbulence of waves,
I seem to see a wife upon her knees,
Her supplicating hands outstretched to one
Who strikes her with coarse blows on cheek and breast.
He is her husband, and he leaves her there,
And takes her jewels and her only purse,
And in a ship embarks for other shores.
His is the face that I have seen to-day--
A handsome face whatever be its sins:
A firm mouth, with large wandering black eyes,
A bearded under-lip, and snowy teeth;
Long, fine black hair, which idly falls about
Shoulders that stoop from labor over books;
Withal a high and intellectual brow,
Not broad enough to hold a generous soul.