To-Morrow.

But one short night between my Love and me!

I watch the soft-shod dusk creep wistfully

Through the slow-moving curtains, pausing by

And shrouding with its spirit-fingers free

Each well-known chair. There is a growing grace

Of tender magic in this little place.

Comes through half-opened windows, soft and cool

As Spring's young breath, the vagrant evening air,

My day-worn soul is hushed. I fain would bear

No burdens on my brain to-night, no rule

Of anxious thought; the world has had my tears,

My thoughts, my hopes, my aims these many years;

This is Thy hour, and I shall sink to sleep

With a glad weariness, to know that when

The new day dawns I shall lay by my pen

Needed no more. If I, perchance, should weep

A few quick tears, so doing, who would guess

‘ Twas the last throb of my soul's loneliness?

Not even thou, Dear Heart, canst ever know

How I have yearned these many months, these years

For love, for thee. As the calm boatman steers

His slender shallop where he fain would go,

Tempests and rocks before, so through the dark

To this dim, far-off day has set my bark.

To-morrow! I can hear the quick-closed door,

The approaching steps, my pained heart's fluttering,

Thy voice, then Thee! And all the storm and sting

Of bygone griefs are passed forevermore,

Swept from my life as the resistless wind

Scatters the chaff, nor leaves a mote behind.

As long-imprisoned captives reach the light,

And gaze with greedy eyes on field and tree,

Drinking the beauties of the sky and sea

Half fearful of their bliss; so from the night

Of dreams and shades, half doubting, we awake

And grasp the joy we almost fear to take.

Thou hidest in thy warm ones my cold hand,

Reading my soul in these unwavering eyes.

Nay, thou hast known my hopes, my agonies

Through written words, and thou canst understand.

I have kept nothing back of all the streams

Of my heart-flowings — doubts, nor fears, nor dreams.

So long my life has followed no control

But mine own impulse; now, I pray thee, bend

My will to thine, and so, unhindered, tend

My soul's wild garden. I have laid the whole

Bare to thy sowing; and life's precious wine

Is of thy pouring, and thy way is mine.