And now though none should render her heart’s right
In any fair place where she used to sit,
She would have prayed for a mere alien’s sight
Of all it was so little pain to quit:
Just to draw near, some silent hour, alone,
Unheralded, unwelcomed, and behold
Her husband and remember him her own,
And be quite near him only as of old:
And perchance, for some grief that was exprest
Plainly upon his face, she might have dared
To enter in, and after all been blest
Some remnant of his pity to have shared.
—Alas, too surely, for long years, all thought
And love of her had perished from his heart;
Until on all her memory were wrought
Dishonour, and with him she had no part;
—And this the while, so held of alien joys,
She spared no thought for him and for his pain,
Nor fancied the least echo of his voice
Sent forth a thousand times to her in vain;
When, might-be many a time, his earnest grief
Sent it so truly seeking her quite near,
Vainly it fell on some dumb flower or leaf
Beside her, never cherished in her ear.
And she thought how one day—she heeding nought—
The last voice on the fruitless air was borne
And died almost a taunt, and the last thought
Of her was changed to hate or utter scorn.
And she thought how since that time, day by day,
The man had learnt to live without her need,
And been quite happy perhaps many a way,
All without loving her or taking heed.
And that which was the great woe had scarce grown
In any gradual way; but with a burst
Her life was torn apart from peace, and thrown
Far from the love that seemed its own at first
All for a mere girl’s fancy too—a whim
For foreign faces and some ruddier south,
And no real choice to die away from him
Who won the truest troth in love and youth.