The Father.

The evening found us whom the day had fled,         Once more in bitter anger, you and I,         Over some small, some foolish, trivial thing         Our anger would not decently let die.         But dragged between us, shamed and shivering,         Until each other's taunts we scarcely heard,         Until we lost the sense of all we said,         And knew not who first spoke the fatal word.         It seemed that even every kiss we wrung         We killed at birth with shuddering and hate,         As if we feared a thing too passionate.         However close we clung         One hour, the next hour found us separate,         Estranged, and Love most bitter on our tongue.         To-night we quarrelled over one small head,         Our fruit of last year's maying, the white bud         Blown from our stormy kisses and the dead         First rapture of our wild, estranging blood.         You clutched him: there was panther in your eyes,         We breathed like beasts in thickets; on the wall         Our shadows swelled as in huge tyrannies,         The room grew dark with anger, yet through all         The shame and hurt and pity of it you were         Still strangely and imperishably dear,         As one who loves the wild day none the less         That turns to naught the lilac's miracle,         Breaking the unrecapturable spell         Of the first may-tree, magic and mystery         Utterly scattering of earth and sky.         Making even the rose's loveliness         A thing for pain to be remembered by.         I said: "My son shall wear his father's sword."         You said: "Shall hands once blossoms at my breast         Be stained with blood?"    I answered with a word         More bitter, and your own, the bitterest,         Stung me to sullen anger, and I said:         "My son shall be no coward of his line         Because his mother choose"; you turned your head,         And your eyes grew implacable on mine.         And like a trodden snake you turned to meet         The foe with sudden hissing ... then you smiled         And broke our life in pieces at my feet,         "Your child?" you said.    "_Your_ child?" ...