I passed the lodge and avenue
To her fair tenement,
And sunset on her window-panes
Reflected our intent.
The creeper on the gable nigh
Was fired to more than red,
And when I came to halt thereby
“Bright as my joy!” I said.
Of late days it had been her aim
To meet me in the hall;
Now at my footsteps no one came,
And no one to my call.
Again I knocked, and tardily
An inner tread was heard,
And I was shown her presence then
With a mere answering word.
She met me, and but barely took
My proffered warm embrace;
Preoccupation weighed her look,
And hardened her sweet face.
“To-morrow–could you–would you call?
Shorten your present stay?
My child is ill–my one, my all!–
And can’t be left to-day.”
And then she turns, and gives commands
As I were out of sound,
Or were no more to her and hers
Than any neighbour round. . . .
—As maid I loved her; but one came
And pleased, and coaxed, and wooed,
And when in time he wedded her
I deemed her gone for good.
He won, I lost her; and my loss
I bore I know not how;
But I do think I suffered then
Less wretchedness than now.
For Time, in taking him, unclosed
An unexpected door
Of bliss for me, which grew to seem
Far surer than before. . . .
Yet in my haste I overlooked
When secondly I sued
That then, as not at first, she had learnt
The call of motherhood. . . .
Her word is steadfast, and I know
That firmly pledged are we:
But a new love-claim shares her since
She smiled as maid on me.