The Watcher

"I think I hear the sound of horses feet
    Beating upon the gravelled avenue.
Go to the window that looks on the street,
    He would not let me die alone, I knew."
Back to the couch the patient watcher passed,
And said: "It is the wailing of the blast."

She turned upon her couch and, seeming, slept,
    The long, dark lashes shadowing her cheek;
And on and on the weary moments crept,
    When suddenly the watcher heard her speak:
"I think I hear the sound of horses' hoofs - "
And answered, "'Tis the rain upon the roofs."

Unbroken silence, quiet, deep, profound.
    The restless sleeper turns: "How dark, how late!
What is it that I hear - a trampling sound?
    I think there is a horseman at the gate."
The watcher turns away her eyes tear-blind:<...

One room is full of luxury, and dim
    With that soft moonlit radiance of light
That she best loves, who sits and dreams of him
    Her heart has crowned as knight.

And one is bare, and comfortless, and dim
    With that strange, fitful glimmer that is shed
By candles casting shadows weird and grim,
    Above the sheeted dead.

In one, a round and beautiful young face
    Is full of wordless rapture; and so fair
You know her breast is joy's best dwelling-place;
    You know sweet love is there.

In one, there lies a white and wasted face
    Whereon is frozen such supreme despair,
You need but look to know what left the trace;
    You know love has been there.

To one he comes!    She leans her head of gold
    Upon his breast...

I stand in the blaze of the candle rays,
    While my merry maidens three
Arrange each tress, and loop my dress,
    And render me fair to see.
But oh! for the eyes that never again
    Will smile like the stars on me.

I sweep down the stair, a bride most fair,
    And some one takes my hand.
I am numb and cold, but the lie is told,
    I smile and my lord is bland.
But oh! for a sight of my rover wild,
    Who wanders abroad in the land.

I am queen of the ball and the festal hall;
    I have beauty and youth and gold,
Men bow at the shrine of this lord of mine -
    Lord of his sums untold.
But oh! to be off in the wilds to-night
    With my lover brave and bold.

I dream a dream while the candles gleam,
    While the dancers m...

My lady is robed for the ball to-night,
    All in a shimmer and silken sheen.
She glides down the stairs like a thing of light,
    The ballroom's beautiful queen.

Priceless gems on her bosom glow -
    Half hid by laces a queen might wear.
Robed is she, as befits, you know,
    The wife of a millionaire.

Gliding along at her liege lord's side,
    Out-shining all in that company,
Into the mind of the old man's bride
    There creeps a curious simile.

She thinks how once in the Long Ago,
    A beautiful captive, all aflame
With jewels that weighed her down like woe,
    Close in the wake of her captor came.

All day long in that mocking plight,
    She followed him in a dumb despair;
And the people thought her a goodly sight,<...

He slept as weary toilers do,
    She gazed up at the moon.
He stirred and said, "Wife, come to bed";
    She answered, "Soon, full soon."
(Oh! that strange mystery of the dead moon's face.)

Her cheek was wan, her wistful mouth
    Was lifted like a cup,
The moonful night dripped liquid light:
    She seemed to quaff it up.
(Oh! that unburied corpse that lies in space.)

Her life had held but drudgery -
    She spelled her Bible thro';
Of books and lore she knew no more
    Than little children do.
(Oh! the weird wonder of that pallid sphere.)

Her youth had been a loveless waste,
    Starred by no holiday.
And she had wed for roof, and bread;
    She gave her work in pay.
(Oh! the moon-memories, vague and strange and dear.)

I am all alone in the house to-night;
    They would not have gone away
Had they known of the terrible, bloodless fight
    I have held with my heart to-day.
With the old sweet love and the old fierce pain
    I have battled hour by hour;
But the fates have willed that the strife is vain.
Alone in the hour my thoughts have reign,
    And I yield myself to their power.

Yield myself to the old time charm
    Of a dream of vanished bliss,
The thrill of a voice, and the fold of an arm,
    And a red lip's lingering kiss.
It all comes back like a flowing tide;
    That brief, but beautiful day.
Though it oft is checked by the dam of pride,
Till the waters flow back to the other side,
    To-night it has broken away.

I gave you all that I had t...