There was gentle reproof in the tone Of the staid old physician. I pity the woman who suffered. His wife Goes her way well contented. Ah, brief Is the rapture such souls find, and long is their grief, Black their sin, blurred their record, and scarlet their shame. And yet when I think of them, sorrow, not blame, Stirs my being.
Blind passion is only the weed Of fair, beautiful love.
You speak with much feeling. But now, if the friends Of this man are to see him before his life ends, I recommend action on your part. His stay On this planet, I fear, will be finished to-day. A man who neglects and abuses his wife, Who gives her at best but the dregs of his life, In the hey day of health, when he's drained his last cup Has a fashion of wanting to settle things up. Craves forgiveness, and hopes with a few final tears To wash out the sins and the insults of years.