WOMAN'S PORTION.

The leaves are shivering on the thorn,

Drearily;

And sighing wakes the lean-eyed morn,

Wearily.

I press my thin face to the pane,

Drearily;

But never will he come again.

( Wearily. )

The rain hath sicklied day with haze,

Drearily;

My tears run downward as I gaze,

Wearily.

The mist and morn spake unto me,

Drearily:

“What is this thing God gives to thee?”

( Wearily. )

I said unto the morn and mist,

Drearily:

“The babe unborn whom sin hath kissed.”

( Wearily. )

The morn and mist spake unto me,

Drearily:

“What is this thing which thou dost see?”

( Wearily. )

I said unto the mist and morn,

Drearily:

“The shame of man and woman's scorn.”

( Wearily. )

“He loved thee not,” they made reply.

Drearily.

I said, “Would God had let me die!”

( Wearily. )

My dreams are as a closed up book,

( Drearily. )

Upon whose clasp of love I look,

Wearily.

All night the rain raved overhead,

Drearily;

All night I wept awake in bed,

Wearily.

I heard the wind sweep wild and wide,

Drearily;

I turned upon my face and sighed,

Wearily.

The wind and rain spake unto me,

Drearily:

“What is this thing God takes from thee?”

( Wearily. )

I said unto the rain and wind,

Drearily:

“The love, for which my soul hath sinned.”

( Wearily. )

The rain and wind spake unto me,

Drearily:

“What are these things thou still dost see?”

( Wearily. )

I said unto the wind and rain,

Drearily:

“Regret, and hope despair hath slain.”

( Wearily. )

“Thou lov'st him still,” they made reply,

Drearily.

I said, “That God would let me die!”

( Wearily. )