THE two were silent in a sunless church,
⁠Whose mildewed walls, uneven pavingstones,
And wasted carvings passed antique research;
⁠And nothing broke the clock's dull monotones.

Leaning against a wormy poppy-head,
⁠So wan and worn that he could scarcely stand,

—For he was soon to die,—he softly said,
⁠"Tell me you love me!"—holding hard her hand.

She would have given a world to breathe "yes" truly,
⁠So much his life seemed hanging on her mind,
And hence she lied, her heart persuaded throughly,
⁠'Twas worth her soul to be a moment kind.

But the sad need thereof, his nearing death,
⁠So mocked humanity that she shamed to prize
A world conditioned thus, or care for breath
⁠Where Nature such dilemmas could devise.

⁠1866.