THE WIFE
Alas! alas! you see he marks you not,
His eyes are fixed on distance, and his lips
Move to the cadence of a song or prayer,
I know not which; and ever and anon,
His forehead, vivid with the teeming brain,
Rests in his hollow hand. He marks you not;
No more than raindrops plashing on a roof,
Whereto perhaps one listens for a space
And says "It raineth"—then again to sleep.
THE MOTHER
Speak you to him, if he may hear his wife!
THE WIFE
Ah me, my lord, what is it I can say
That will excuse the saying? Words are few
When hearts are fullest. On my wedding night—
Do you remember?—you did take my hand,
(As I take yours now) lay your lips on it,
(See, here I lay my lips) and all the love
Your heart would fain express and tongue could not
I read in eyes and kisses, being well skilled
In love's translation.
THE SEEKER
Who is this that speaks?
Your words come through my musing, like the call
Of quails across the desert, troubling me
With a strange stirring of the peaceful heart.
THE WIFE
It was my soul and not my words that called.