THE LADY ACROSS THE COURT

She only comes when night is near,

And stands a moment quietly

Beside her window, in the dusk —

She lives across the court from me —

And though I cannot see her eyes

Because she is too far away,

I somehow feel that they are kind,

And very soft, and widely gray!

Her hands are only dim white blurs,

That rest against the window pane;

And yet I know that they are firm,

And cool and sweet as April rain.

And, oh, I cannot help but wish

As, through the dark, I go to bed,

That they might rest a moment like

A little prayer upon my head!

She only comes when night is near,

I do not know who she can be;

I never see her anywhere

But just across the court from me....

I am so small the curtains hide

The wistful smiles that I have smiled,

And yet I, somehow, think she feels

The love of me — a lonely child.