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 trace

Something beyond mere commonplace

In your ideas, and heart, and face.

On Wednesday I did not opine

Your 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 dwell

Not far apart, whatever befell.

On Friday it was with a thrill

In gazing towards your distant vill

I owned you were my dear one still.

I saw you wholly to my mind

On Saturday — even one who shrined

All that was best of womankind.

As wing-clipt sea-gull for the sea

On Sunday night I longed for thee,

Without whom life were waste to me!