By Mellstock Lodge and Avenue

   Towards her door I went,

And sunset on her window-panes

   Reflected our intent.

The creeper on the gable nigh

   Was fired to more than red

And when I came to halt thereby

   “Bright as my joy!” I said.

Of late days it had been her aim

   To meet me in the hall;

Now at my footsteps no one came;

   And no one to my call.

Again I knocked; and tardily

   An inner step was heard,

And I was shown her presence then

   With scarce an answering word.

She met me, and but barely took

   My proffered warm embrace;

Preoccupation weighed her look,

   And hardened her sweet face.

“To-morrow—could you—would you call?

   Make brief your present stay?

My child is ill—my one, my all!—

   And can’t be left to-day.”

And then she turns, and gives commands

   As I were out of sound,

Or were no more to her and hers

   Than any neighbour round . . .

—As maid I wooed her; but one came

   And coaxed her heart away,

And when in time he wedded her

   I deemed her gone for aye.

He won, I lost her; and my loss

   I bore I know not how;

But I do think I suffered then

   Less wretchedness than now.

For Time, in taking him, had oped

   An unexpected door

Of bliss for me, which grew to seem

   Far surer than before . . .

Her word is steadfast, and I know

   That plighted firm are we:

But she has caught new love-calls since

   She smiled as maid on me!