SUSPENSE

A woman's figure, on a ground of night

Inlaid with sallow stars that dimly stare

Down in the lonesome eyes, uplifted there

As in vague hope some alien lance of light

Might pierce their woe. The tears that blind her sight —

The salt and bitter blood of her despair —

Her hands toss back through torrents of her hair

And grip toward God with anguish infinite.

And O the carven mouth, with all its great

Intensity of longing frozen fast

In such a smile as well may designate

The slowly murdered heart, that, to the last

Conceals each newer wound, and back at Fate

Throbs Love's eternal lie — “Lo, I can wait!”