There came a footstep climbing the stair,
Some one standing out on the landing
Shook the door like a puff of air.—
Shook the door and in he passed.
Did he enter? In the room center
Stood her husband; the door shut fast.
"O Robin, but you are cold—
Chilled with the night-dew; so lily white you
Look like a stray lamb from our fold.
"O Robin, but you are late:
Come and sit near me—sit here and cheer me."—
(Blue the flame burnt in the grate.)
"Lay not down your head on my breast:
I cannot hold you, kind wife, nor fold you
In the shelter that you love best.
"Feel not after my clasping hand:
I am but a shadow, come from the meadow,
Where many lie, but no tree can stand.
"We are trees that have shed their leaves:
Our heads lie low there, but no tears flow there;
Only I grieve for my wife who grieves.
"I could rest if you would not moan
Hour after hour; I have no power
To shut my ears as I lie alone.
"I could rest if you would not cry,
But there's no sleeping while you sit weeping—
Watching, weeping so bitterly."—
"Woe's me! Woe's me! For this I have heard.
Oh night of sorrow—oh, black to-morrow!
Is it thus that you keep your word?