Classic Poem

I

I COULD see you die, dear,
Since your shame is such;
Die — and let dying clear
The cloud of it away.
Little was it that you did,
Yet so overmuch
That all cruel hands now
At your heart may clutch,
And all tongues of bitterness betray.

II

I could see you die — yes,
For so proud you were,
That no exaltation less
Than self-respect can serve
Still to keep your head high
Above the slime and slur,
The laughter, the contumely
That fallen men incur:
And for that too shattered is your nerve!

III

So you cannot win back;
Hope of that is shut;
Falls there are that seem to lack
Footway up again;
Little was the way down,
But the merest rut
Seems irreparably deep
When with fibres cut
The sullied heart would mount from it again.

IV

I could see you die, then,
Die — for, as of old,
Love is not a stay to you
Now that honour 's gone.
For a wife the worst of shame
Ends when she is told,
That she is more dear, still,
Than all the skies can hold.
I could see you die, but oh, live on!