II

He called her in from me and shut the door! 
And I went wandering alone again—­
So lonely—­O so very lonely then,
I thought no little sallow star, alone
In all a world of twilight, e’er had known
Such utter loneliness.  But that I wore
Above my heart that gleaming tress of hair
To lighten up the night of my despair,
I think I might have groped into my grave
Nor cared to wave
The ferns above it with a breath of prayer. 
And how I hungered for the sweet, sweet face
That bent above me in my hiding-place
That day amid the grasses there beside
Her pleasant home!—­“Her pleasant home!” I sighed,
Remembering;—­then shut my teeth and feigned
The harsh voice calling me,—­then clinched my nails
So deeply in my palms, the sharp wounds pained,
And tossed my face toward heaven, as one who pales
In splendid martyrdom, with soul serene,
As near to God as high the guillotine. 
And I had envied her?  Not that—­O no! 
But I had longed for some sweet haven so!—­
Wherein the tempest-beaten heart might ride
Sometimes at peaceful anchor, and abide
Where those that loved me touched me with their hands,
And looked upon me with glad eyes, and slipped
Smooth fingers o’er my brow, and lulled the strands
Of my wild tresses, as they backward tipped
My yearning face and kissed it satisfied. 
Then bitterly I murmured as before,—­
“He called her in from me and shut the door!”

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

[Illustration:  (WHEN SHE FIRST CAME TO ME)]

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!”