University of Virginia Library

Winnie has left us at length. I had some trouble about it;
He laughed at her flattery, vowing he hardly could live now without it,
Called her a nice little goose, his Caberfae, with the head,
Brown, of a startled deer just raised from its ferny bed;
And not a thing would he do, and never a word would he say;
It was no business of his; the girl might go or stay;
He would have nothing to do with it; women had ways of their own,
No man could venture on trying, of letting their wishes be known.
He trusted I did not think his heretic heart was smit
By a girl, because her tongue had a trick of heretical wit;
Sure, he was sound in heart, whatever his head might be;
And, if not very devout, he was devoted to me;
And held to the saying of Paul as the strong hope of his life,
That maybe the faithless husband was saved by the faith of his wife.
That is the way that he speaks now, always with some poor jest,
Leaving a text in the mouth with a strange and a bitter taste.
So he left me that morning. Oh, how my heart beat wild!
As I went into my room, and prayed to be kept then meek and mild,
Speaking the truth in love; and I said to myself a psalm
That nerved my soul to be patient, and dignified too and calm.
Hardly I know what followed. I meant to be firm, but kind,
And for her own sake tell her the thing that was in my mind;
But on the hint of it only, Winnie broke out in wrath,
Scornful, vowing that I had all along darkened her path,
Made her life fruitless, and that she laughed at my pious advice;
I was but a watery saint, and lapt in a fool's Paradise;
And she could shatter my baby-bliss, if she cared to do it.
Oh how she pitied my husband! mated, and now, too, he knew it,
Wived by mistake, with one who was wife of his weakness only,
Hardly a housekeeper even, and leaving his intellect lonely,
Having no part in his genius, meeting no play of his wit,
Standing outside of his true life, only a drag upon it!
Vain and weak as he was, had he met but a woman of mind
He yet might have run in the race, but now he is left far behind.
Thus she broke out in her wrath, and packing her boxes the while,
Stole a look as she stabbed me, hiding a venomous smile,
Furtive; but I was heedless of all that she said about me,
Till the slighting of him made me wroth, as a wife should be.
Pity I lost my temper; but, all the same, truly I would
Lose it to-morrow again if they say of him aught but good.
Altogether it was a weary and heartless day,
But there is light towards evening, and peace, too, for she is away.