III

He called her in from me and shut the door! After long struggling with my pride and pain — A weary while it seemed, in which the more I held myself from her, the greater fain

Was I to look upon her face again;— At last — at last — half conscious where my feet Were faring, I stood waist-deep in the sweet Green grasses there where she

First came to me.— The very blossoms she had plucked that day, And, at her father's voice, had cast away, Around me lay,

Still bright and blooming in these eyes of mine; And as I gathered each one eagerly, I pressed it to my lips and drank the wine Her kisses left there for the honey-bee.

Then, after I had laid them with the tress Of her bright hair with lingering tenderness, I, turning, crept on to the hedge that bound Her pleasant-seeming home — but all around

Was never sign of her!— The windows all Were blinded; and I heard no rippling fall Of her glad laugh, nor any harsh voice call;— But clutching to the tangled grasses, caught

A sound as though a strong man bowed his head And sobbed alone — unloved — uncomforted!— And then straightway before My tearless eyes, all vividly, was wrought

A vision that is with me evermore:— A little girl that lies asleep, nor hears Nor heeds not any voice nor fall of tears.— And I sit singing o'er and o'er and o'er,—

“God called her in from him and shut the door!”