The day that Edward left me was the last He could have been my husband; for the next Disclosed his infamy and my disgrace. He was a thief, and had been one, for years,-- Defrauding those whose gold he held in trust; And he was ruined--ruined utterly. The very bed I sat on was not his, Nor mine, except by tender charity. A guilty secret menacing behind, A guilty passion burning in his heart, And, by his side, a guilty paramour, He seized upon this reckless whim, and fled From those he knew would curse him ere he slept. My cup was filled with wormwood; and it grew Bitter and still more bitter, day by day, Changing from shame and hate, to stern revenge. Life had no more for me. My home was lost; My heart unfitted to return to this; And, reckless of the future, I went forth-- A woman stricken, maddened, desperate. I sought the city with as sure a scent As vultures track a carcass through the air. I knew him there, delivered up to sin, And longed to taunt him with his infamy,-- To haunt his haunts; to sting his perjured soul With sharp reproaches; and to scare his eyes-- With visions of his work upon my face. But God had other means than my revenge To humble him, and other thought for me. I saw him only once; we did not meet; There was a street between us; yet it seemed Wide as the unbridged gulf that yawns between The rich man and the beggar. 'Twas at dawn. I had arisen from the sleepless bed Which my scant means had purchased, and gone forth To taste the air, and cool my burning brow. I wandered on, not knowing where I went, Nor caring whither. There were few astir; The market wagons lumbered slowly in, Piled high with carcasses of slaughtered lambs, Baskets of unhusked corn, and mint, and all The fresh, green things that grow in country fields. I read the signs--the long and curious names-- And wondered who invented them, and if Their owners knew how very strange they were. A corps of weary firemen met me once, Late home from service, with their gaudy car, And loud with careless curses. Then I stopped, And chatted with a frowsy-headed girl Who knelt among her draggled skirts, and scrubbed The heel-worn doorsteps of a faded house. Then, as I left her, and resumed my walk, I turned my eyes across the street, and saw A sight which stopped my feet, my breath, my heart. It was my husband. Oh, how sadly changed! His bloodshot eyes stared from an anxious face; His hat was battered, and his clothes were torn And splashed with mud. His poisoned frame Had shrunk away, until his garments hung In folds about him. Then I knew it all: His life had been a measureless debauch Since his most shameless flight; and in his eye, Eager and strained, and peering down the stairs That tumbled to the anterooms of hell, I saw the thirst which only death can quench. He did not raise his eyes; I did not speak;