| |
| I AM all alone in the room. | |
| The evening stretches before me | |
| Like a road all delicate gloom | |
| Till it reaches the midnight’s gate. | |
| And I hear his step on the path, | 5 |
| And his questioning whistle, low | |
| At the door as I hurry to meet him. | |
| |
| He will ask, “Are the doors all locked? | |
| Is the fire made safe on the hearth? | |
| And she—is she sound asleep?” | 10 |
| |
| I shall say, “Yes, the doors are locked, | |
| And the ashes are white as the frost: | |
| Only a few red eyes | |
| To stare at the empty room. | |
| And she is all sound asleep, | 15 |
| Up there where the silence sings, | |
| And the curtains stir in the cold.” | |
| |
| He will ask, “And what did you do | |
| While I have been gone so long? | |
| So long! Four hours or five!” | 20 |
| |
| I shall say, “There was nothing I did.— | |
| I mended that sleeve of your coat. | |
| And I made her a little white hood | |
| Of the furry pieces I found | |
| Up in the garret to-day. | 25 |
| She shall wear it to play in the snow, | |
| Like a little white bear,—and shall laugh, | |
| And tumble, and crystals of stars | |
| Shall shine on her cheeks and hair. | |
| —It was nothing I did.—I thought | 30 |
| You would never come home again!” | |
| |
| Then he will laugh out, low, | |
| Being fond of my folly, perhaps; | |
| And softly and hand in hand | |
| We shall creep upstairs in the dusk | 35 |
| To look at her, lying asleep: | |
| Our little gold bird in her nest: | |
| The wonderful bird who flew in | |
| At the window our Life flung wide. | |
| (How should we have chosen her, | 40 |
| Had we seen them all in a row, | |
| The unborn vague little souls, | |
| All wings and tremulous hands? | |
| How should we have chosen her, | |
| Made like a star to shine, | 45 |
| Made like a bird to fly, | |
| Out of a drop of our blood, | |
| And earth, and fire, and God?) | |
| |
| Then we shall go to sleep, | |
| Glad.— | 50 |
| O God, did you know | |
| When you moulded men out of clay, | |
| Urging them up and up | |
| Through the endless circles of change, | |
| Travail and turmoil and death, | 55 |
| Many would curse you down, | |
| Many would live all gray | |
| With their faces flat like a mask: | |
| But there would be some, O God, | |
| Crying to you each night, | 60 |
| “I am so glad! so glad! | |
| I am so rich and gay! | |
| How shall I thank you, God?” | |
| |
| Was that one thing you knew | |
| When you smiled and found it was good: | 65 |
| The curious teeming earth | |
| That grew like a child at your hand? | |
| Ah, you might smile, for that!— | |
| —I am all alone in the room. | |
| The books and the pictures peer, | 70 |
| Dumb old friends, from the dark. | |
| The wind goes high on the hills, | |
| And my fire leaps out, being proud. | |
| The terrier, down on the hearth, | |
| Twitches and barks in his sleep, | 75 |
| Soft little foolish barks, | |
| More like a dream than a dog … | |
| |
| I will mend the sleeve of that coat, | |
| All ragged,—and make her the hood | |
| Furry, and white, for the snow. | 80 |
| She shall tumble and laugh … | |
| Oh, I think | |
| Though a thousand rivers of grief | |
| Flood over my head,—though a hill | |
| Of horror lie on my breast,— | 85 |
| Something will sing, “Be glad! | |
| You have had all your heart’s desire: | |
| The unknown things that you asked | |
| When you lay awake in the nights, | |
| Alone, and searching the dark | 90 |
| For the secret wonder of life. | |
| You have had them (can you forget?): | |
| The ancient beautiful things!” … | |
| |
| How long he is gone. And yet | |
| It is only an hour or two…. | 95 |
| |
| Oh, I am so happy. My eyes | |
| Are troubled with tears. | |
| Did you know, | |
| O God, they would be like this, | |
| Your ancient beautiful things? | 100 |
| Are there more? Are there more,—out there?— | |
| O God, are there always more? | |
| |
