A Life Term

She was false, and he was true,—
Thus their lives were rent apart;
'Twas his dagger driven through
A mad rival's heart.

He was shut away. The moon
May not find him; nor the stars—
Nay, nor yet the sun of noon
Pierce his prison bars.

She was left—again to sin—
Mistress of all siren arts:
The poor, soulless heroine
Of a hundred hearts!

Though she dare not think of him
Who believed her lies, and so
Sent a ghost adown the dim
Path she dreads to go,—

He, in fancy, smiling, sips
Of her kisses, purer yet
Than the dew upon the lips
Of the violet.
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