The Broken Tryst

That day a fire was in my blood;

I could have sung: joy wrapt me round;

The men I met seemed all so good,

I scarcely knew I trod the ground.

How easy seemed all toil! I laughed

To think that once I hated it.

The sunlight thrilled like wine, I quaffed

Delight, divine and infinite.

The very day was not too long;

I felt so patient; I could wait,

Being certain. So, the hours in song

Chimed out the minutes of my fate.

For she was coming, she, at last,

I knew: I knew that bolts and bars

Could stay her not; my heart throbbed fast,

I was not more certain of the stars.

The twilight came, grew deeper; now

The hour struck, minutes passed, and still

The passionate fervour of her vow

Ran in my heart's ear audible.

I had no doubt at all: I knew

That she would come, and I was then

Most certain, while the minutes flew:

Ah, how I scorned all other men!

Next moment! Ah! it was—was not!

I heard the stillness of the street.

Night came. The stars had not forgot.

The moonlight fell about my feet.

So I rebuked my heart, and said:

"Be still, for she is coming, see,

Next moment—coming. Ah, her tread,

I hear her coming—it is she!"

And then a woman passed. The hour

Rang heavily along the air.

I had no hope, I had no power

To think—for thought was but despair.

A thing had happened. What? My brain

Dared not so much as guess the thing.

And yet the sun would rise again

Next morning! I stood marvelling.