Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/165

146 “He is dead,” I say, “that lover, Who left her so long ago,” My neighbour rests her needle To answer, “He's false I know.

“For could it be he were sleeping. With love that was such as this He'd break through the gates of silence. And hurry to meet her kiss.”

Is she best worth tears or laughter, This dame in her old brocade? My neighbour says she is holy, With her faith that will not fade.

The children out on the common, They answer her dreary call. And say, “He will come to-morrow!” Who never will come at all.