You did not come,

And marching Time drew on, and wore me numb.—

Yet less for loss of your dear presence there

Than that I thus found lacking in your make

That high compassion which can overbear

Reluctance for pure lovingkindness’ sake

Grieved I, when, as the hope-hour stroked its sum,

      You did not come.

      You love not me,

And love alone can lend you loyalty;

—I know and knew it.  But, unto the store

Of human deeds divine in all but name,

Was it not worth a little hour or more

To add yet this: Once, you, a woman, came

To soothe a time-torn man; even though it be

      You love not me?