She pointed and she smiled,
And lo! he was aware
Of a half-lit bedroom chamber
And a silent figure there.
A silent figure lying
A-sprawl upon a bed,
With a silver-mounted pistol
Still clotted to his head.
And as he downward gazed,
Her voice came full and clear,
The homely tender voice
Which he had loved to hear:
‘The key is very certain,
The door is sealed to none.
You did it, oh, my darling!
And you never knew it done.
‘When the net was broken,
You thought you felt its mesh;
You carried to the spirit
The troubles of the flesh.
‘And are you trembling still, dear?
Then let me take your hand;
And I will lead you outward
To a sweet and restful land.
‘You know how once in London
I put my griefs on you;
But I can carry yours now—
Most sweet it is to do!
‘Most sweet it is to do, love,
And very sweet to plan
How I, the helpless woman,
Can help the helpful man.
‘But let me see you smiling
With the smile I know so well;
Forget the world of shadows,
And the empty broken shell.
‘It is the worn-out garment
In which you tore a rent;
You tossed it down, and carelessly
Upon your way you went.