The long dark night crawled slowly on; I waited patiently, Knowing at last the sudden dawn, Sometime, would surely be.
It came,—to tell me everything Was Winter’s quiet slave: I waited still, aware that Spring Was strong to come and save.
And then Spring came, and I was glad A few expectant hours; Until I learned the things I had Were only withered flowers
Because there came not with the Spring As in the ancient days— The sound of his feet pattering Along Spring’s open ways;
Because his sweetly serious eyes Looked into mine no more; Because no more in childish-wise He brought his gathered store
Of dandelions to my bed, And violets and grass,— Deeming I would be comforted That Spring had come to pass.
And now these unused toys and I Have little dread or care For any season that drifts by The silences we share;
And sometimes, when we think to pray, Across the vacant years We see God watching him at play And pitying our tears.
It was quite dark within the room Wherein the Lady Alice sat; One had not seen, who looked thereat, The gathered dust upon her loom, There was such gloom.
And though the hangings on the wall Were wrought so well and cunningly That many had come far to see Their glory once (for they were all Of cardinal,
And gold, and silk, and curious glass) The ladies with the long red hair Thereon, the strong men fighting there, The little river edged with grass,— Were now, alas,
As if they had been always gray. Likewise the lily, whose perfume Had once been over all the room, In which dark corner now it lay,— What man might say?
She did not see these things, or know That they had changed since she had seen. She liked it best to sit between Two little firs (they used to grow, Once, long ago!)
That stood each in an earthen pot Upon the window’s either side. They had been green before they died, But like the rest fell out their lot,— To be forgot.
Yet what cared she for such as these, Whose window was toward the sun At sun-rising? There was not one Of them so strong and sure to please, Or bring her ease,
As what she saw when she looked through Her window just before the dawn. These were the sights she gazed upon: _Sir John, whose silken pennon flew,_ _Yellow and blue,_
_And proud to be upon his lance;_ _The horse he rode being gray and white;_ _A few men, unafraid to fight,_ _Followed (there were some men in France_ _Were brave, perchance!)_