Returning from the cruel fight <br />How pale and faint appears my knight! <br />He sees me anxious at his side; <br />'Why seek, my love, your wounds to hide? <br />Or deem your English girl afraid <br />To emulate the Indian maid?' <br /> <br />Be mine my husband's grief to cheer <br />In peril to be ever near; <br />Whate'er of ill or woe betide, <br />To bear it clinging at his side; <br />The poisoned stroke of fate to ward, <br />His bosom with my own to guard: <br />Ah! could it spare a pang to his, <br />It could not know a purer bliss! <br />'Twould gladden as it felt the smart, <br />And thank the hand that flung the dart!<br /><br />William Makepeace Thackeray<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-pocahontas/
