Her fingers at the blossoms--crooned and talked To them in strange, glad whispers, as we walked,-- Said _this_ one was her angel mother--_this_, Her baby-sister--come back, for a kiss, Clean from the Good-World!--smiled and kissed them, then Closed her soft eyes and kissed them o'er again. And so did she beguile me--so we played,-- She was the dazzling Shine--I, the dark Shade-- And we did mingle like to these, and thus, Together, made The perfect summer, pure and glorious. So blent we, till a harsh voice broke upon Our happiness.--She, startled as a fawn, Cried, "Oh, 'tis Father!"--all the blossoms gone From out her cheeks as those from out her grasp.-- Harsher the voice came:--She could only gasp Affrightedly, "Good-bye!--good-bye! good-bye!" And lo, I stood alone, with that harsh cry Ringing a new and unknown sense of shame Through soul and frame, And, with wet eyes, repeating o'er and o'er,-- "He called her in from me and shut the door!" II He called her in from me and shut the door! And I went wandering alone again-- So lonely--O so very lonely then, I thought no little sallow star, alone In all a world of twilight, e'er had known Such utter loneliness. But that I wore Above my heart that gleaming tress of hair To lighten up the night of my despair, I think I might have groped into my grave Nor cared to wave The ferns above it with a breath of prayer. And how I hungered for the sweet, sweet face That bent above me in my hiding-place That day amid the grasses there beside Her pleasant home!--"Her _pleasant_ home!" I sighed, Remembering;--then shut my teeth and feigned The harsh voice calling _me_,--then clinched my nails So deeply in my palms, the sharp wounds pained, And tossed my face toward heaven, as one who pales In splendid martrydom, with soul serene, As near to God as high the guillotine. [Illustration] And I had _envied_ her? Not that--O no! But I had longed for some sweet haven so!-- Wherein the tempest-beaten heart might ride Sometimes at peaceful anchor, and abide Where those that loved me touched me with their hands, And looked upon me with glad eyes, and slipped Smooth fingers o'er my brow, and lulled the strands Of my wild tresses, as they backward tipped My yearning face and kissed it satisfied. Then bitterly I murmured as before,-- "He called her in from me and shut the door!" III