"This little room, Where you have breakfasted and dined and supped, And laughed and chatted in the days gone by, Will be a lonely place when we are gone. Those roses at the window, that were wont To bloom so freely with the lady's care, Already miss her touch. That ivy-vine Has grown a yard since it was tied, and needs A training hand." Rising with bitter tears To flee his presence, he arose with me, And wandered through the rooms. "This casket here"-- I heard him say: "Suppose we loose the clasp. These are her jewels--pretty gifts of yours. There is a diamond: there a string of pearls. That paly opal holds a mellowed fire Which minds me of the mistress, whose bright soul, Glows through the lucent whiteness of her face With lambent flicker. These are legacies: She will not wear them more. Her taste and mine Are one in this, that both of us love flowers. Ay, she shall have them, too, some pleasant day, When she goes forth with me! "So? what is this? Her wardrobe! Let the door be opened wide! This musk, so blent with scent of violets, Revives one. You remember when she wore That lavender?--a very pretty silk! Here is a _moire antique_. Ah! yes--I see! You did not like her in it. 'Twas too old, And too suggestive of the dowager. There is your favorite--that glossy blue-- The sweet tint stolen from the skies of June-- But she is done with it. I wonder who Will wear it, when your grief shall find a pause! Your daughter--possibly? ... You shiver, sir! Is it the velvet? Like a pall, you think! Well, close the door! "Those slippers on the rug: The time will come when you will kiss their soles For the dear life that pressed them. Their rosettes Will be more redolent than roses then. You did not know how much you loved your wife? I thought so! "This way! Let us take our stand Beside her bed. Not quite so beautiful To your fond eyes as when she was a bride, Though still a lovely woman! Seems it strange That she is yours no longer?--that her hand Is given to another--to the one For whom she has been waiting all her life, And ready all her life? Your power is gone To punish rivals. There you stand and weep, But dare not lift a finger, while with smiles And kindly welcome she extends her hands To greet her long-expected friend. She knows Where I will take her--to what city of God, What palace there, and what companionship. She knows what robes will drape her loveliness, What flowers bedeck her hair, and rise and fall Upon the pulses of her happy breast. And you, poor man! with all your jealous pride, Have learned that she would turn again to you, And to your food and furniture of life, With disappointment.