Dearest, though I have sung a many songs,
Yet have I never sung one from my heart,
Save to thee only--and such private songs
Are as the silent, secret kiss of Love!
My heart, I say, so sacred was, and is,
I kept, I keep it, from all eyes but thine,
Because it is no longer mine, but thine,
Given thee forever, when I gave myself
That winter morning--was it years ago?
To me it seems the dream of yesterday!
You have not lost the face I married then,
Albeit a trifle paler--not to-night--
Nor I the eyes that saw then, and see still,
What every man should see in her he weds!
I wander ... wisely, let me, since my words
Conceal what none but you and I should know,--
The love I bear you, who have been, and are
Strong in the strength and weakness of your sex--
Queen of my household, mistress of my heart,
My children's mother, and my always friend;
In one word, Sweet, sweetest of all words--Wife!
"ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED."
One morn I left him in his bed;
A moment after some one said,
"Your child is dying--he is dead."
We made him ready for his rest,
Flowers in his hair, and on his breast
His little hands together prest.
We sailed by night across the sea;
So, floating from the world were we,
Apart from sympathy, we Three.
The wild sea moaned, the black clouds spread
Moving shadows on its bed,
But one of us lay midship dead.
I saw his coffin sliding down
The yellow sand in yonder town,
Where I put on my sorrow's crown.
And we returned; in this drear place
Never to see him face to face,
I thrust aside the living race.
Mothers, who mourn with me to-day,
Oh, understand me, when I say,
I cannot weep, I cannot pray;
I gaze upon a hidden store,
His books, his toys, the clothes he wore,
And cry, "Once more, to me, _once_ more!"
Then take, from me, this simple verse,
That you may know what I rehearse--
A grief--your and my Universe!