Part 3 (2/2)

She loves rich jewels that flash in the light, And revels in costly lace, And first in the morning, and last at night She kisses one ring on her finger white; (How came those tears on my face?)

She has all best things to make life sweet: Youth, and beauty, and gold, And a love that renders it quite complete.

(I wonder why from my head to my feet I feel so deathly cold?)

Yet in all the store of her great delight (And she has so much, so much) She cannot be gladder than I, in the bright Sweet smile he gave her when he said good night-- And his warm hand's close, kind touch.

I must put out the light and go to bed; I wonder would she care If she knew, when I knelt with low bowed head, I prayed for her, but that I said His name the last in my prayer?

MAD

Could I but hear you laugh across the street, Though I, or mine, shared nothing in your glee, Could I taste that one drop of bitter sweet, 'Twere more than life to me.

If I might see you coming through the door, Though with averted face and smileless eye, Were I allowed that little boon, no more, Then I were glad to die.

But oh, my G.o.d! this living day on day, Stripped of the only joy your starved heart had, Shut in a prison world and forced to stay-- Why that way souls go mad!

To-day I heard a woman say the earth, All blossom garlanded, was fair to see.

I laughed with such intensity of mirth, The woman shrank from me.

Fair? Why, I see the blackness of the tomb Where'er I turn, and grave mould on each brow; And grinning faces peer out of the gloom-- Good G.o.d! I _am_ mad now.

WHICH

We are both of us sad at heart, But I wonder who can say Which has the harder part, Or the bitterer grief to-day.

You grieve for a love that was lost Before it had reached its prime; I sit here and count the cost Of a love that has lived its time.

Your blossom was plucked in its May, In its dawning beauty and pride; Mine lived till the August day, And reached fruition and died.

You pressed its leaves in a book, And you weep sweet tears o'er them.

Dry eyed I sit and look On a withered and broken stem.

And now that all is told, Which is the sadder, pray, To give up your dream with its gold, Or to see it fade into grey?

LOVE'S BURIAL

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