A lover said, “O Maiden, love me well, For I must go away: And should ANOTHER ever come to tell Of love — What WILL you say?”
And she let fall a royal robe of hair That folded on his arm And made a golden pillow for her there; Her face — as bright a charm
As ever setting held in kingly crown — Made answer with a look, And reading it, the lover bended down, And, trusting, “kissed the book.”
He took a fond farewell and went away. And slow the time went by — So weary — dreary was it, day by day To love, and wait, and sigh.
She kissed his pictured face sometimes, and said: “O Lips, so cold and dumb, I would that you would tell me, if not dead, Why, why do you not come?”
The picture, smiling, stared her in the face Unmoved — e'en with the touch Of tear-drops — HERS — bejeweling the case — ‘ Twas plain — she loved him much.
And, thus she grew to think of him as gay And joyous all the while, And SHE was sorrowing — “Ah, welladay!” But pictures ALWAYS smile!
And years — dull years — in dull monotony As ever went and came, Still weaving changes on unceasingly, And changing, changed her name.
Was she untrue?— She oftentimes was glad And happy as a wife; But ONE remembrance oftentimes made sad Her matrimonial life.—
Though its few years were hardly noted, when Again her path was strown With thorns — the roses swept away again, And she again alone!
And then — alas! ah THEN!— her lover came: “I come to claim you now — My Darling, for I know you are the same, And I have kept my vow
Through these long, long, long years, and now no more Shall we asundered be!” She staggered back and, sinking to the floor, Cried in her agony:
“I have been false!” she moaned, “I am not true — I am not worthy now, Nor ever can I be a wife to YOU — For I have broke my vow!”
And as she kneeled there, sobbing at his feet, He calmly spoke — no sign Betrayed his inward agony — “I count you meet To be a wife of mine!”
And raised her up forgiven, though untrue; As fond he gazed on her, She sighed,— “SO HAPPY!” And she never knew HE was a WIDOWER.
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