What did it mean that noontide, when
You bade me pluck the flower
Within the other woman’s bower,
       &nbsp Whom I knew nought of then?

I thought the flower blushed deeplier - aye,
And as I drew its stalk to me
It seemed to breathe: “I am, I see,
Made use of in a human play.”

And while I plucked, upstarted sheer
As phantom from the pane thereby
A corpse-like countenance, with eye
That iced me by its baleful peer -
       &nbsp Silent, as from a bier . . .

When I came back your face had changed,
       &nbsp It was no face for me;
O did it speak of hearts estranged,
       &nbsp And deadly rivalry

       &nbsp In times before
       &nbsp I darked your door,
       &nbsp To seise me of
       &nbsp Mere second love,
Which still the haunting first deranged?