The Widow
By Mellstock Lodge and AvenueTowards her door I went,And sunset on her window-panesReflected our intent.
The creeper on the gable nighWas fired to more than redAnd when I came to halt thereby“Bright as my joy!” I said.
Of late days it had been her aimTo meet me in the hall;Now at my footsteps no one came;And no one to my call.
Again I knocked; and tardilyAn inner step was heard,And I was shown her presence thenWith scarce an answering word.
She met me, and but barely tookMy proffered warm embrace;Preoccupation weighed her look,And hardened her sweet face.
“To-morrow—could you—would you call?Make brief your present stay?My child is ill—my one, my all!—And can’t be left to-day.”
And then she turns, and gives commandsAs I were out of sound,Or were no more to her and hersThan any neighbour round . . .
—As maid I wooed her; but one cameAnd coaxed her heart away,And when in time he wedded herI deemed her gone for aye.
He won, I lost her; and my lossI bore I know not how;But I do think I suffered thenLess wretchedness than now.
For Time, in taking him, had opedAn unexpected doorOf bliss for me, which grew to seemFar surer than before . . .
Her word is steadfast, and I knowThat plighted firm are we:But she has caught new love-calls sinceShe smiled as maid on me!
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