Deserted

No, mother, I am not sad:

    Why think me sad? I was always still,

    You remember, even when my heart was most glad

    And you used to let me dream at my will;

    And now I like better to watch the sea

    And the calm sad sky than to laugh with the rest.

    You know they are full of chatter and glee,

       And I like the quietness best.

       Nay, mother, you look so grave.

  I know what you're thinking and will not say;

  But you need not fear; I am growing brave

  Now that the pain is passing away,

  And I never weep for him now when alone,

  For perhaps it was better — who can tell? —

  That it ended so. I shall soon be well

     Now that the hardest is known.

     I am so much stronger to-day

 I can look at all past and think how it grew

  And how by degrees it faded away,

  That light of my life. Ah! when I first knew

  I had only been a plaything to him

  Through all my loving, it seemed so strange.

  If the high noontide at once grew night-dim

     It would not be such a change.

    I wonder I did not die.

  Mother, I'll own it you now I am strong,

  I used to wake in the night and lie

  Wishing and wishing it might not be long —

  Oh! it was wicked, and you all so kind,

  How could I wish to bring you a grief?

  But too much unhappiness makes one blind

     To all but one's own relief.

     I am not so wicked now;

  You need not fear. I am hoping that still,

  I am learning to lean on God, and I bow,

  Yes I think I bow my heart to His will.

  I found it a long hard struggle to make,

  To clasp my sorrow and say "It is best,"

  But, believe it, you need not fear for my sake;

     Yes, mother, I am at rest:

    Yet, listen, if I should die soon —

  And I know what they say, though you hide it from me —

  Mother, you'll grant me my last-asked boon,

  That you'll try not to think it his fault, and if he,

  Mother, if he should seek you some day,

  You will not make him a hard reply,

  But tell him, before I passed away,

     I sent him kind good-bye.

     Mother, kiss me, do not cry.

  I could not keep from speaking of this;

  It is nothing to say "If I should die,"

  It cannot bring death more near than it is;

  And I am much stronger. You shall not weep —

  Who is it tells me that weeping is wrong?

  But let me lean on your lap and sleep,

     I lay waking last night too long.