Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 4 — Woman's Portion

I press my thin face to the pane, Drearily;

But never will he come again.

Wearily.

The rain hath sicklied day with haze, Drearily;

My tears run downward as I gaze, Wearily.

The mist and morn spake unto me, Drearily:-- "What is this thing God gives to thee, Wearily?"

I said unto the morn and mist, Drearily:-- "The babe unborn whom sin hath kissed, Wearily."

The morn and mist spake unto me, Drearily:-- "What is this thing which thou dost see, Wearily?"

I said unto the mist and morn, Drearily:-- "The shame of man and woman's scorn, Wearily."

"He loved thee not," they made reply, Drearily.

-- I said, "Would God had let me die!"

Wearily.

II

My hopes are as a closed-up book, Drearily, Upon whose clasp of love I look Wearily.

All night the rain raved overhead, Drearily;

All night I wept, awake in bed, Wearily.

I heard the wind sweep wild and wide, Drearily;

And turned upon my face and sighed Wearily.

The wind and rain spake unto me, Drearily:-- "What is this thing God takes from thee, Wearily?"

I said unto the rain and wind, Drearily:-- "The love, for which my body sinned, Wearily."

The rain and wind spake unto me, Drearily:-- "What are these things that burden thee, Wearily?"

I said unto the wind and rain, Drearily:-- "Past joys, and dreams whose ghosts remain, Wearily."

"Thou lov'st him still," they made reply, Drearily.

-- I said, "Would God that I could die!"

Wearily.