There is none anywhere So beautiful as she nor half so dear; My heart sings ever when she draweth near, Because she is so good and sweet and fair.
I may not be the one To break the cloistered stillness of her life, To teach her passion and love and grief and strife, And lead her through the garden of the sun.
For I am sad and wise; I have no hopes, no dreams, no fancies--none; Yet she has taught me that I am alone, And what men mean who talk of Paradise.
But, when her joybells ring, I think, perhaps, that I shall hear and sigh And wish the roses did not have to die, And that the birds might never cease to sing.
Among his books he sits all day To think and read and write; He does not smell the new-mown hay, The roses red and white.
I walk among them all alone, His silly, stupid wife; The world seems tasteless, dead and done-- An empty thing is life.
At night his window casts a square Of light upon the lawn; I sometimes walk and watch it there Until the chill of dawn.
I have no brain to understand The books he loves to read; I only have a heart and hand He does not seem to need.
He calls me "Child"--lays on my hair Thin fingers, cold and mild; Oh! God of Love, who answers prayer, I wish I were a child!
And no one sees and no one knows (He least would know or see) That ere Love gathers next year's rose Death will have gathered me;
And on my grave will bindweed pink And round-faced daisies grow; _He_ still will read and write and think, And never, never know!
It's lonely in my study here alone Now you are gone; I loved to see your white gown 'mid the flowers, While, hours on hours, I studied--toiled to weave a crown of fame About your name.
I liked to hear your sweet, low laughter ring; To hear you sing About the house while I sat reading here, My child, my dear; To know you glad with all the life-joys fair I dared not share.
I thought there would be time enough to show My love, to throw Some day with crowns of laurel at your feet Love's roses sweet; I thought I could taste love when fame was won-- Now both are done!
Thank God, your child-heart knew not how to miss The passionate kiss Which I dared never give, lest love should rise Mighty, unwise, And bind me, with my life-work incomplete, Beside your feet.