"My
stick!" he says, and turns in the
lane
To the
house just left, whence a
vixen voice
Comes out with the
firelight throught the
pane,
And he sees within that the
girl of his choice
Stands rating her
mother with eyes a
glare
For something said while he was there.
"At last I behold her soul undraped!"
Thinks the man who had loved her more than himself;
"My God!--'tis but narrowly I have escaped.--
My precious porcelain proves it delf."
His face has reddened like one ashamed,
And he steals off, leaving his stick unclaimed.
--Thomas Hardy