Sonnet Cxliv: Poem by George Henry Boker

For thy dear safety, not for mine own ease,
I am thus kindly cruel, unhappy girl!
Securer far than thine, my lips may curl
Against a world I never sought to please.
I never moved to win that prosperous breeze
Blown by the tainted breath of jade and churl;
Back in their teeth my name's report I hurl;
I seek no patent from such things as these.
But thou--Ah! there some spirit pulls me back;
Sets the hard ashes of my cheeks aflame,
At the bare mention of thy sacred name.
I would not see its lucid crystal black,
Flawed or bedimmed with any mist of shame,
To save my body from the headsman's rack.