I have come back, a worse than widowed wife; Yet I went out with dream as bright as yours,-- Nay, brighter,--for the birds were singing then, And apple-blossoms drifted on the ground Where snow-flakes fell and flew when you were wed. The skies were soft; the roses budded full; The meads and swelling uplands fresh and green;-- The very atmosphere was full of love. It was no girlish carelessness of heart That kept my eyes from tears, as I went forth From this dear shelter of the orphan child. I felt that God was smiling on my lot, And made the airs his angels to convey To every sense and sensibility The message of his favor. Every sound Was music to me; every sight was peace; And breathing was the drinking of perfume. I said, content, and full of gratitude, "This is as God would have it; and he speaks These pleasant languages to tell me so." But I had no such honeymoon as yours. A few brief days of happiness, and then The dream was over. I had married one Who was the sport of vagrant impulses. We had not been a fortnight wed, when he Came home to me with brandy in his brain-- A maudlin fool--for love like mine to hide As if he were an unclean beast. O Grace! I cannot paint the horrors of that night. My heart, till then serene, and safely kept In Trust's strong citadel, quaked all night long, As tower and bastion fell before the rush Of fierce convictions; and the tumbling walls Boomed with dull throbs of ruin through my brain. And there were palaces that leaned on this-- Castles of air, in long and glittering lines, Which melted into air, and pierced the blue That marks the star-strewn vault of heaven;--all fell, With a faint crash like that which scares the soul When dissolution shivers through a dream Smitten by nightmare,--fell and faded all To utter nothingness; and when the morn Flamed up the East, and with its crimson wings Brushed out the paling stars that all the night In silent, slow procession, one by one, Had gazed upon me through the open sash, And passed along, it found me desolate. The stupid dreamer at my side awoke, And with such helpless anguish as they feel Who know that they are weak as well as vile. I saw, through all his forward promises, Excuses, prayers, and pledges that were oaths (What he, poor boaster, thought I could not see), That he was shorn of will, and that his heart Was as defenseless as a little child's;-- That underneath his fair good fellowship He was debauched, and dead in love with sin;-- That love of me had made him what I loved,-- That I could only hold him till the wave Of some overwhelming impulse should sweep in, To lift his feet and bear him from my arms. I felt that morn, when he went trembling forth, With bloodshot eyes and forehead hot with woe, That henceforth strife would be 'twixt Hell and me-- The odds against me--for my husband's soul. _Grace_.