She is dead, oh God! and I-- I must live! though life be but One long, hard, monotonous rut For me till I die. Creeds might help in such a case: But no sermon could have wrought More of faith than you have taught With your pale dead face. Now I see, oh, now I see My mistake!--so very small, Yet so great it bungled all, _All_ for you and me. Oft I said, "I feel, I'm sure She could never live that life! She is still my own true wife, She is good and pure!" You were pure and I bemoiled! That you loathed me, it was just; Weak of soul and left of lust Vulgar, low, and soiled.... Closed--the eyes once filled with dreams! Great, proud eyes!... I see them yet, Miniature nights of lucid jet Filled with starry gleams. Sealed--the lips; poor, faded lips! Once as red as life could make-- Sweet wild roses, half awake, Dewy to their tips. Hair!--imperial still, and warm As a Grace's; where one stone, Jeweled, lay ensnared and shone Like a star in storm. Eyes!--at parting big with pain... God! I see them still! the tear In them!--big as eyes of deer Led by lights and slain.... Woman true, I falsely blamed; Whom I killed with scorn and pride; Woman pure, of whom I lied; With the nameless named: All you said, Sweet, has come true!-- Ah! this life had woe enough For the little dole of love Giv'n to me and you. Do you hear me? do you know What I feel now? how it came? You, beyond me like a flame, You, before me like the snow.... Dead! and all my heart's a cup Hollowed for repentant tears, Bitter in the bitter years, Slowly brimming up. Peace! 'tis well! But might have been Better.--Yes, God's time makes right!-- Better for me in His sight With my soul washed clean. Do you hear me? do you know How my heart was all your own? How my life is left alone Now with naught but woe? Peace! be still!--I kiss your hair. Sweet, good-by. Upon your breast Let this long white lily rest-- God will find it there: There beyond the sad world and Clouds and stars and silent skies, Where your eyes shall meet His eyes, And--He'll understand. THE EVE OF ALL-SAINTS I This is the tale they tell Of an Hallowe'en; This is the thing that befell Me and the village belle, Beautiful Amy Dean. II Did I love her? God and she, They know and I! Ah, she was the life of me-- Whatever else may be Would God that I could die! III That Hallowe'en was dim; The frost lay white Under strange stars and a slim Moon in the graveyard grim, Pale with its slender light. IV