But unto themselves apart,
Whispering, they said of her,
"Dying of a broken heart—
Death her only comforter—
For the man she loved is dead—
She will follow soon!" they said.
So I mutely turned away,
Turned with sorrow and despair,
Yearning still from day to day
For that woman dying there,
Till at last, by longing led,
I returned to find her—dead?
"Dead?"—I know that word would tell
Rhyming there—but in this case
"Wed" rhymes equally as well
In the very selfsame place—
And, in fact, the latter word
Is the one she had preferred.
Yet unto themselves apart,
Whisp'ring they had said of her—
"Dying of a broken heart—
Death her only comforter—
For the man she loved is dead—
She will follow soon!" they said.
AFTER THE FROST
After the frost! O the rose is dead,
And the weeds lie pied in the garden-bed,
And the peach tree's shade in the wan sunshine,
Faint as the veins in these hands of mine,
Streaks the gray of the orchard wall
Where the vine rasps loose, and the last leaves fall,
And the bare boughs writhe, and the winds are lost—
After the frost—the frost!
After the frost! O the weary head
And the hands and the heart are quietéd;
And the lips we loved are locked at last,
And kiss not back, though the rain falls fast
And the lashes drip, and the soul makes moan,
And on through the dead leaves walks alone
Where the bare boughs writhe and the winds are lost—
After the frost—the frost!