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.
