<h2><SPAN name="page107"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>TWO</h2>
<p class="poetry">One leaned on velvet cushions like a
queen—<br/>
To see him pass, the hero of an hour,<br/>
Whom men called great. She bowed with languid mien,<br/>
And smiled, and blushed, and knew her beauty’s
power.</p>
<p class="poetry">One trailed her tinselled garments through the
street,<br/>
And thrust aside the crowd, and found a place<br/>
So near, the blooded courser’s prancing feet<br/>
Cast sparks of fire upon her painted face.</p>
<p class="poetry">One took the hot-house blossoms from her
breast,<br/>
And tossed them down, as he went riding by,<br/>
And blushed rose-red to see them fondly pressed<br/>
To bearded lips, while eye spoke unto eye.</p>
<p class="poetry">One, bold and hardened with her sinful life,<br/>
Yet shrank and shivered painfully, because<br/>
His cruel glance cut keener than a knife,<br/>
The glance of him who made her what she was.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page108"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
108</span>One was observed, and lifted up to fame,<br/>
Because the hero smiled upon her! while<br/>
One who was shunned and hated, found her shame<br/>
In basking in the death-light of his smile.</p>
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