He took her hands in his And pressed them to his lips; and at the kiss Griselda started from the heap she was And sat upright, with pale pathetic face Turned to the night. By the dim starlight he Beheld, half-awed and half in ecstasy, The strange emotion of her countenance. She made no gesture to withdraw her hands, No sign of disagreement with his words. Her eyes looked scared and troubled like a bird's Caught in a net, and seemed to ask of Fate Where the next blow should fall. 'Twas thus she sat Speechless, inanimate, nor seemed to breathe. The Prince could hear the chattering of her teeth, And feel her shiver in the warm night wind,-- And yet its touch was hardly thus unkind.
He too, poor soul, in hope and tenderness, Still kissed her hands, and kissed her gloves and dress, And kneeling at her feet embraced her knees With soothing arms and soft cajoleries. She dared not turn nor speak. The balustrade Served as a pretext for her with its shade Hiding his face. She would not seem to guess All that his fondness asked of her distress: A word might break the spell. She only knew She was a poor sad woman, doomed to do Sorrow to all who loved her, that the Prince Had spoken truly, and her long pretence Of innocence was o'er. She scorned to make An idle protest now for honour's sake. He had a right to ask for what he would Now that she loved him, and her womanhood Reserved one tearful right, and only one, To hide her face an instant and be gone.
How long they sat thus silent who shall say? Griselda knew not. Time was far away; She wanted courage to prepare her heart For that last bitterest word of all, "We part;" And he cared naught for time: his heaven was there, Nor needed thought, nor speech, nor even prayer.
A sound of music roused them. From the house Voices broke in and strains tumultuous, Proving the dance begun. Then with a sigh Griselda turned her head, and piteously Looked in his face. She moved as if to go, And when he held her still, "For pity, no, Let me be gone," she cried. "I ask it thus," Clasping her hands. "You will not? No! alas! You must not doubt me when I speak the truth; This is a great misfortune for us both." "Griselda," he began. "Oh, stop," she said, "You know not what you ask." She bent her head Close to his own. "I am not what I seem, A woman to be loved, not even by him Whom I might choose to worship. Mine must be An unfinished life, not quite a tragedy, Even to my friends, an idle aimless life, Not worth an argument, still less a strife. You must forget, forgive me. We were friends, Friends still perhaps; but, oh! this first day ends Our love for ever. What you said was true, Only I never guessed it."