She charged me with having said this and that <br />To another woman long years before, <br />In the very parlour where we sat, - <br /> <br /> <br />Sat on a night when the endless pour <br />Of rain on the roof and the road below <br />Bent the spring of the spirit more and more…. <br /> <br /> <br />- So charged she me; and the Cupids bow <br />Of her mouth was hard, and her eyes, and her face, <br />And her white forefinger lifted slow. <br /> <br /> <br />Had she done it gently, or shown a trace <br />That not too curiously would she view <br />A folly passed ere her reign had place, <br /> <br /> <br />A kiss might have ended it. But I knew <br />From the fall of each word, and the pause between, <br />That the curtain would drop upon us two <br />Ere long, in our play of slave and queen.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/she-charged-me/
