THE WIDOW

By Mellstock Lodge and Avenue

Towards her door I went,

And sunset on her window-panes

Reflected our intent.

The creeper on the gable nigh

Was fired to more than red

And when I came to halt thereby

“Bright as my joy!” I said.

Of late days it had been her aim

To meet me in the hall;

Now at my footsteps no one came;

And no one to my call.

Again I knocked; and tardily

An inner step was heard,

And I was shown her presence then

With scarce an answering word.

She met me, and but barely took

My proffered warm embrace;

Preoccupation weighed her look,

And hardened her sweet face.

“To-morrow — could you — would you call?

Make brief your present stay?

My child is ill — my one, my all! -

And can n't be left to-day.”

And then she turns, and gives commands

As I were out of sound,

Or were no more to her and hers

Than any neighbour round...

- As maid I wooed her; but one came

And coaxed her heart away,

And when in time he wedded her

I deemed her gone for aye.

He won, I lost her; and my loss

I bore I know not how;

But I do think I suffered then

Less wretchedness than now.

For Time, in taking him, had oped

An unexpected door

Of bliss for me, which grew to seem

Far surer than before...

Her word is steadfast, and I know

That plighted firm are we:

But she has caught new love-calls since

She smiled as maid on me!