Classic Poem

The evening found us whom the day had fled,
Once more in bitter anger, you and I,
Over some small, some foolish, trivial thing
Our anger would not decently let die,
But dragged between us, shamed and shivering
Until each other's taunts we scarcely heard,
Until we lost the sense of all we said,
And knew not who first spoke the fatal word.
It seemed that even every kiss we wrung
We killed at birth in shuddering and hate,
As if we feared a thing too passionate.
However close we clung
One hour, the next hour found us separate,
Estranged, and love most bitter on our tongue.

Tonight we quarrelled over one small head,
Our fruit of last year's maying, the white bud
Blown from our stormy kisses and the dead
First rapture of our wild, unhappy blood.
You clutched him; there was panther in your eyes,
We breathed like beasts in thickets; on the wall
Our shadows swelled in frustrate tyrannies,
The room grew dark with anger, yet through all
The shame and hurt and pity of it you were
Still strangely and imperishably dear,
Behind the tempest hung the rainbow's thrall.

I said, " My son shall wear his father's sword. "
You said, " Shall hands once rosy on my breast
Be stained with blood? " I answered with a word
More bitter, and your word, the bitterest,
Stung me to sudden anger, and I said,
" My son shall be no coward of his line
Because his mother fears! " You turned your head,
And your eyes grew implacable on mine.
And like a trodden snake you turned to meet
The foe with sudden hissing ... then you smiled
And broke our life in pieces at my feet.
" Your child? " you said. " Your child? " ...