‘Cross the pebbled pathway my heart walked
And the wind of my breath lept ere he spoke
“Let us meet under yellow trees of Oct”
And so that night I crept to the low oak
Kind blackness granted me to his rough hand
but at once he was fettered to my throat
This was not the lover’s embrace planned
His blossom lips quivered to say a note
“Goodbye dove,” he clenched me close to death,
“Our love is discovered, the nature of shame.”
“Take me then! For they will kill you, my breath.”
And thus we died for what is but a name
Of pupil and master, and love’s displace
Of forbidden hearts, and shamed love they face