11

I prayed the gods to give me luck —
And kissed her — on the cheek.

But who can read a woman's heart
Or know a maiden's will?
For when we strive to please them most
We fare but doubly ill.

So then alas a sight I saw:
Her lip was curled in scorn;
And secretly I fumed and cursed
The day that I was born

But when in dire extremity
The gods are often kind
And point some way of sure retreat
Or respite to our mind.

And thus did fake a ransom pay
For sullen grew the south;
And tenderly I clasped her close
And kissed her — on the mouth.