WOMAN'S PORTION.
I.
The leaves are shivering on the thorn,
Drearily;
And sighing wakes the lean-eyed morn,
Wearily.
I press my thin face to the pane,
Drearily;
But never will he come again.
(Wearily.)
The rain hath sicklied day with haze,
Drearily;
My tears run downward as I gaze,
Wearily.
The mist and morn spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What is this thing God gives to thee?"
(Wearily.)
I said unto the morn and mist,
Drearily:
"The babe unborn whom sin hath kissed."
(Wearily.)
The morn and mist spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What is this thing which thou dost see?"
(Wearily.)
I said unto the mist and morn,
Drearily:
"The shame of man and woman's scorn."
(Wearily.)