Classic Poem

I.

H E stands him all smiling and bland
Just there where the tapestries fall;
The wine cup he holds in his hand
Throws a dabble of red on the wall.

See, he smiles to himself as he sips
Of his wine in the alcove apart!
Will he smile when my dagger's thin lips
Shall drink the red wine of his heart?

II.

There 's a dead man out in the night,
Under the stars he lies;
And the dews in a monotone drip, —
Cold tears from unsorrowing eyes.

— He was my rival once.
Whose now is the better fate?
He married the girl of his love;
I murdered the man of my hate!