Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/210
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Around our feet!Around our feet!"It's just a flower," he said,"A happy, lonely lily, warm and red."I couldn't stand the way he kept so mild,And spoke as if I were a fool or child."Pick it!" I cried, "If red can rise in mud,And warmth in mist, there's hope for flesh and blood!"He stared beyond the fog. . . . . .He stared beyond the fog. . . . . ."Oh let it stay,A wild thing fades if you take it away."I knew then what my man was thinking of,His other wife—that Gypsy—his first love—And growing sentimental with his past,As if in spite of death, she were his last.So I stooped down and clutched it in my hand,Gasping as if it were a burning brand,And tore it up, leaves, blossom, roots and all!He never said a word, but straight and tallStalked slowly off, and like an oily screen,The grey, unrolling film slid in between.I waited 'til his footsteps in the mireSmeared over too.Smeared over too.I hid my flower of fireBeneath my coat, but even then it shoneEnough to light the long way home alone.He said that it would fade. I made it thrive.Close to the window pane it seemed aliveAs her own face that used to hover there,With eyes as black as dungeons under hairTawny and wild and bound with red. For hoursShe'd watch that curve of road between the flowers.She'd watch, but nothing came until the dayThe hearse drove up to carry her away.I liked my lily for awhile, but nowIt's bloated, glow'ring, terrible—SomehowIt lived so easily, it grew too well.I often fear it and the bloody spellIt seems to cast. Even the walls and floors
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