  MY Lady of the Silver Tongue, Do you not feel a thrill of shame? The woman is so fair and young— Why seek to steal away her fame? Nay, never mind that haughty stare, For you and I must measure swords, To tell you to your face I dare, A lie lurked in your pretty words. Did you not say awhile ago “I am her friend,”—in earnest tone— And soft that voice of yours, and low— “I am her friend when all is done;” As though a friend a doubt would fling, And evil tongues to wagging start! I am her friend—ah, there the sting, No friend will grieve and hurt a heart! Your eyes are very warm and kind, And sweet the smile upon your lips, I read the truth—I am not blind— False are you to your finger-tips, And I would rather be, to-day, The slandered woman, fair and young, Than be yourself, so proud and gay, My Lady of the Silver Tongue! A friend’s heart holds no wronging doubt, No envy—meaner far than hate— With tenderness it pieces out The small shortcomings, and the great. So when you slander—blush for shame— Or, to some gossip’s tale attend, I pray you take some other name, And never say, I am her friend. For loyalty is not a jest, No sweeter word is said or sung, Take time to learn that truth is best, My Lady of the Silver Tongue. [Decorative image unavailable.] |
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