Cruelty And Love

What large, dark hands are those at the window     Lifted, grasping in the yellow light     Which makes its way through the curtain web             At my heart to-night?     Ah, only the leaves! So leave me at rest,     In the west I see a redness come     Over the evening's burning breast -             For now the pain is numb.      The woodbine creeps abroad      Calling low to her lover:         The sunlit flirt who all the day         Has poised above her lips in play         And stolen kisses, shallow and gay         Of dalliance, now has gone away         - She woos the moth with her sweet, low word,      And when above her his broad wings hover      Then her bright breast she will uncover      And yield her honey-drop to her lover.      Into the yellow, evening glow      Saunters a man from the farm below,      Leans, and looks in at the low-built shed      Where hangs the swallow's marriage bed.         The bird lies warm against the wall.         She glances quick her startled eyes         Towards him, then she turns away         Her small head, making warm display         Of red upon the throat. Her terrors sway         Her out of the nest's warm, busy ball,         Whose plaintive cries start up as she flies         In one blue stoop from out the sties         Into the evening's empty hall.      Oh, water-hen, beside the rushes      Hide your quaint, unfading blushes,      Still your quick tail, and lie as dead,      Till the distance covers his dangerous tread.     The rabbit presses back her ears,     Turns back her liquid, anguished eyes     And crouches low: then with wild spring     Spurts from the terror of the oncoming     To be choked back, the wire ring     Her frantic effort throttling:     Piteous brown ball of quivering fears!     Ah soon in his large, hard hands she dies,     And swings all loose to the swing of his walk.     Yet calm and kindly are his eyes     And ready to open in brown surprise     Should I not answer to his talk     Or should he my tears surmise.     I hear his hand on the latch, and rise from my chair     Watching the door open: he flashes bare     His strong teeth in a smile, and flashes his eyes     In a smile like triumph upon me; then careless-wise     He flings the rabbit soft on the table board     And comes towards me: ah, the uplifted sword     Of his hand against my bosom, and oh, the broad     Blade of his hand that raises my face to applaud     His coming: he raises up my face to him     And caresses my mouth with his fingers, smelling grim     Of the rabbit's fur! God, I am caught in a snare     I know not what fine wire is round my throat,     I only know I let him finger there     My pulse of life, letting him nose like a stoat     Who sniffs with joy before he drinks the blood:     And down his mouth comes to my mouth, and down     His dark bright eyes descend like a fiery hood     Upon my mind: his mouth meets mine, and a flood     Of sweet fire sweeps across me, so I drown     Within him, die, and find death good.