A Woman's Mood

I think to-night I could bear it all, Even the arrow that cleft the core— Could I wait again for your swift footfall And your sunny face coming in at the door, With the old frank look and the gay young smile. And the ring of the words you used to say; I could almost deem the pain worth while. To greet you again in the olden way!

But you stand without in the dark and cold, And I may not open the long-closed door. Nor call thro' the night, with the love of old— Come in to the warmth, as in nights of yore! I kneel alone in the red fire-glow, And hear the wings of the wind sweep by; You are out afar in the night, I know. And the sough of the wind is like a cry.

You are out afar—and I wait within, A grave-eyed woman whose pulse is slow; The flames round the red coals softly spin, And the lonely room's in a rosy glow; The firelight falls on your vacant chair, And the soft brown rug where you used to stand; Dear, never again shall I see you there, Nor lift my head for your seeking hand.

Yet sometimes still, and in spite of all, I wistful look at the fastened door. And wait again for the swift footfall, And the gay young voice as in hours of yore. It still seems strange to be here alone, With the rising sob of the wind without; The sound takes a deep, insisting tone Where the trees are swinging their arms about.

The moaning reaches the sheltered room, And thrills my heart with a sense of pain; I walk to the window, and pierce the gloom With a yearning look that is all in vain. Yon are out in a night of depths that hold No promise of dawning for you and me, And only a wraith, from the lite of old, Has shaken the chords of memory!

Yon are out evermore! God wills it so; And I have taken the love you knew— The love you struck with a mortal blow— And torn each dinging heart-string thro'. And yet tho' the latest throb is still— Tho' red life-blood is cold at the core, I'm watching, watching, against my will, For your banished face in the op'ning door.

It maybe, dear, when the sequel's told Of the story, read to its bitter close; When the inner meanings of life unfold, And the under-side of our being shows— It maybe then, in that truer light, When all our knowledge has larger grown, I may understand why you stray to-night, And I am left, with the past alone.