![]() ![]() Of a daughter-in-law stricken with age and gray.Īnd by night, or looking out of the window by day Hearing the tick of the clock, and the low of cattleĪnd the scream of a jay flying through falling leaves!ĭay after day alone in a room of the house My hundredth year was reached! And still I lay ![]() With the feeling that I had become eternal at last The years till a terror came in my heart at times, SPRING and Summer, Fall and Winter and SpringĪfter each other drifting, past my window drifting!Īnd I lay so many years watching them drift and counting Luring me with the promise of leisure for my novel,Īnd I married him, giving birth to eight children,Īnd died from lock-jaw, an ironical death. ![]() Then John Slack, the rich druggist, wooed me, Should it be celibacy, matrimony or unchastity? I WOULD have been as great as George Eliotįor look at the photograph of me made by Penniwit, There is no marriage in heaven, But there is love. Wrought out my destiny-that through the flesh Tell him that my love for you, no less than my love for him Who broods upon what he calls our guilty love:. The stars sparkle, the whippoorwill calls,īut thou grievest, while my soul lies rapturous The balmy air of spring whispers through the sweet grass, ![]() MAURICE, weep not, I am not here under this pine tree. ![]()
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