The Broken Tryst

That day a fire was in my blood;

I could have sung: joy wrapt me round;

The men I met seemed all so good,

I scarcely knew I trod the ground.  How easy seemed all toil!

I laughed To think that once I hated it.

The sunlight thrilled like wine,

I quaffed Delight, divine and infinite.  The very day was not too long;

I felt so patient;

I could wait,

Being certain.

So, the hours in song Chimed out the minutes of my fate.  For she was coming, she, at last,

I knew:

I knew that bolts and bars Could stay her not; my heart throbbed fast,

I was not more certain of the stars.  The twilight came, grew deeper; now The hour struck, minutes passed, and still The passionate fervour of her vow Ran in my heart's ear audible.  I had no doubt at all:

I knew That she would come, and I was then Most certain, while the minutes flew:

Ah, how I scorned all other men!  Next moment!

Ah! it was—was not!

I heard the stillness of the street.

Night came.

The stars had not forgot.

The moonlight fell about my feet.  So I rebuked my heart, and said: "Be still, for she is coming, see,

Next moment—coming.

Ah, her tread,

I hear her coming—it is she!"  And then a woman passed.

The hour Rang heavily along the air.

I had no hope,

I had no power To think—for thought was but despair.  A thing had happened.

What?

My brain Dared not so much as guess the thing.

And yet the sun would rise again Next morning!

I stood marvelling.