Hate

My enemy came nigh,
And I
Stared fiercely in his face.
My lips went writhing back in a grimace,
And stern I watch'd him with a narrow eye.
Then, as I turn'd away, my enemy,
That bitter heart and savage, said to me:
'Some day, when this is past,
When all the arrows that we have are cast,
We may ask one another why we hate,
And fail to find a story to relate.
It may seem to us then a mystery
That we could hate each other.'

Thus said he,
And did not turn away,
Waiting to hear what I might have to say,
But I fled quickly, fearing if I stay'd
I might have kiss'd him as I would a maid.