A Week
On Monday night I closed my door,And thought you were not as heretofore,And little cared if we met no more.
I seemed on Tuesday night to traceSomething beyond mere commonplaceIn your ideas, and heart, and face.
On Wednesday I did not opineYour life would ever be one with mine,Though if it were we should well combine.
On Thursday noon I liked you well,And fondly felt that we must dwellNot far apart, whatever befell.
On Friday it was with a thrillIn gazing towards your distant villI owned you were my dear one still.
I saw you wholly to my mindOn Saturday—even one who shrinedAll that was best of womankind.
As wing-clipt sea-gull for the seaOn Sunday night I longed for thee,Without whom life were waste to me!
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