University of Virginia Library

THE LETTER

Husband and Dearest, be not wroth with me,
Because I leave you for a little while—
Only a little—one day to return,
A better wife, and make a brighter home,
For therefore do I go, with breaking heart;
And secretly, for it would break your heart
To let me go; and yet I needs must go,
That worse may not befall, and we, the more
We rub together, be but more estranged.
Often I thought to tell you all the thought
That brooded in me. But you did not care
To speak of what might grow into debate;
And I was fearful, knowing you have much
Upon your mind, and that it is not well
To fret the current of your larger thought
With small obstructions. What I mean is this:
Indeed, I did not mean to hide from you
My purpose, or to purpose anything
Unworthy; for wherever I may be,
My wifely heart goes with me, and the troth
I vowed to you; and that you know right well.
But things are no more as they were with us;
Somehow the light has gone out from our life,
And we, together living, live apart
In joyless solitude. I blame you not,
Except that your too tender cherishing
Fostered my self-love, making much of me,
Petting myself, and pitying myself
Too much already. Mine alone the blame
Of that dim separateness. For I was not
The wife you needed, though I tried to be,
And never woman's love was more than mine.
I have not shared the burden of your thoughts,
I have not understood you, nor forgot
Myself in your high purpose; my small lamp
That feebly glimmered, failed, of course, to light
The two large chambers of your life. Perhaps,
I never should have been a wedded wife;
Perhaps it had been better had I died,
When God took baby from us. I have been
Foolish and fretful, selfish, useless; only
I loved so absolute—that is my excuse.
Had I but loved my God as well! But there,
The more I strove that you should cleave to Him,
The more I seemed to lose my hold of Him,
And drifted as you drifted, helping not
Your soul, and hurting mine own faith, as day
Slipt after day, with ever dimmer sense
Of things unseen in me, and harder thoughts
In you, until I felt my darkening way
Was darkening yours, and dropping into death,
As we more alien grew in all our thoughts,
In feeling more estranged, in ways more sundered,
And God appeared the farther from us both.
That is the bitter end of all my striving—
Harm to my own soul, cruel hurt to thine!
And yet I meant so well; only I tried
A work beyond my power; except the Lord,
Do build the house, the builder builds in vain.
I know you'll not forget to plant fresh flowers
Around the little grave. 'Tis nothing; yet,
When I return I would not like to see
Another picture than I bear with me.
You cannot doubt the love I bear to you,
You cannot doubt the grief that weeps for you,
You cannot doubt the purpose that for you
Would school my heart by earnest discipline;
You cannot doubt me, even in leaving you
A little while, and but a little while,
For surely God will spare me unto you.