XXVII.

It's over now; the blow has fell at last;

It seems as though the sun can n't shine no more,

And nothing looks the way it did before;

The glad thoughts that I used to think are past.

Her desk's shut up to-day, the lid's locked fast;

The keys where she typewrote are still; her chair

Looks sad and lonesome standin’ empty there —

I'd like to let the tears come if I dast.

This morning when the boss come in he found

A letter that he'd got from her, and so

He read it over twice and turned around

And said: “The little fool's got married!” Oh,

It seemed as if I'd sink down through the ground,

And never peep no more — I did n't, though.