I’ll tell thee truth:  I loved another. 
His name in my ear was ever ringing,
His form to my brain was ever clinging: 
Yet if some stranger breathed that name,
My lips turned white, and my heart beat fast:  280
My nights were once haunted by dreams of flame,
My days were dim in the shadow cast
By the memory of the same! 
Day and night, day and night,
He was my breath and life and light, 285
For three short years, which soon were passed. 
On the fourth, my gentle mother
Led me to the shrine, to be
His sworn bride eternally. 
And now we stood on the altar stair, 290
When my father came from a distant land,
And with a loud and fearful cry
Rushed between us suddenly. 
I saw the stream of his thin gray hair,
I saw his lean and lifted hand, 295
And heard his words,—­and live!  Oh God! 
Wherefore do I live?—­’Hold, hold!’
He cried, ’I tell thee ’tis her brother! 
Thy mother, boy, beneath the sod
Of yon churchyard rests in her shroud so cold:  300
I am now weak, and pale, and old: 
We were once dear to one another,
I and that corpse!  Thou art our child!’
Then with a laugh both long and wild
The youth upon the pavement fell:  305
They found him dead!  All looked on me,
The spasms of my despair to see: 
But I was calm.  I went away: 
I was clammy-cold like clay! 
I did not weep:  I did not speak:  310
But day by day, week after week,
I walked about like a corpse alive! 
Alas! sweet friend, you must believe
This heart is stone:  it did not break. 
My father lived a little while, 315
But all might see that he was dying,
He smiled with such a woeful smile! 
When he was in the churchyard lying
Among the worms, we grew quite poor,
So that no one would give us bread:  320
My mother looked at me, and said
Faint words of cheer, which only meant
That she could die and be content;
So I went forth from the same church door
To another husband’s bed. 325
And this was he who died at last,
When weeks and months and years had passed,
Through which I firmly did fulfil
My duties, a devoted wife,
With the stern step of vanquished will, 330
Walking beneath the night of life,
Whose hours extinguished, like slow rain
Falling for ever, pain by pain,
The very hope of death’s dear rest;
Which, since the heart within my breast 335
Of natural life was dispossessed,
Its strange sustainer there had been.