ON MARTOCK MOOR
I
My deep-dyed husband trusts me,
He feels his mastery sure,
Although I leave his evening hearth
To walk upon the moor.
II
—I had what wealth I needed,
And of gay gowns a score,
And yet I left my husband's house
To muse upon the moor.
III
O how I loved a dear one
Who, save in soul, was poor!
O how I loved the man who met
Me nightly on the moor.
IV
I'd feather-beds and couches,
And carpets for the floor,
Yet brighter to me was, at eves,
The bareness of the moor.
V
There was a dogging figure,
There was a hiss of “Whore!”
There was a flounce at Weir-water
One night upon the moor. . . .
VI
Yet do I haunt there, knowing
By rote each rill's low pour,
But only a fitful phantom now
Meets me upon the moor.
1899.
