Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/205

"And, O Spectre that wearest my look—my face,
  And art ever with them as the thought they keep
To remind them of me in the changeless place
  In the changeless Past where the memories sleep,—
Do thou tell them I am not all barren of grace,
  Nor have buried their love so deep,
But that now after so long toward them I yearn,
And that often the thought of them all may return,
  And that often it makes me weep."

Then, alas! I was troubled and filled with shame,
  As I looked on His face and beheld him fair;
For his locks were as gold, and his eyes as a flame;
  And I knew that one winter had blanched my hair,
And that surely my looks were no longer the same
  As in earlier days they were:
For I feared he should mock me and tell them of this,
And that even my tears were but scant beside his.
  O, this thought was a hard one to bear!