Poetry Archives

He took the grade in second—quite a climb,
Dizzy and dangerous, yet how sublime!
The road went up and up; it curved around
The mountain and the gorge grew more profound.
He drove serenely, with no hint of haste;
And then she felt his arm go round her waist.

She shrank: she did not know him very well,
Being like her a guest at the hotel.
Nice, but a Frenchman. On his driving hand
He wore like benedicks a golden band . . .
Well, how could she with grace refuse a drive
So grand it made glad to be alive?

Yet now she heard him whisper in her ear:
“Don’t be afraid. With one hand I can steer,
With one arm hold you . . . Oh what perfect bliss!
Darling, please don’t refuse me just one kiss.
Here, nigh to Heaven, let is us rest awhile . . .
Nay, don’t resist—give me your lips, your smile . . .”

So there in that remote and dizzy place
He wrestled with her for a moment’s space,
Hearing her cry: “Oh please, please let me go!
Let me get out . . . You brute, release me! No, no,
                NO!”
. . . In that ravine was found their burnt-out car—
Their bodies trapped and crisped into a char.