Who hath talked of weeping?--Yet
There is something at my heart,
Gnawing, I would fain forget,
And an aching and a smart. 40
--Ah! my mother, 'tis in vain,
For he is _not_ come again.
HEART'S CHILL BETWEEN
(_Athenaeum_, October 21, 1848)
I did not chide him, though I knew
That he was false to me.
Chide the exhaling of the dew,
The ebbing of the sea,
The fading of a rosy hue,--
But not inconstancy.
Why strive for love when love is o'er?
Why bind a restive heart?--
He never knew the pain I bore
In saying: 'We must part; 10
Let us be friends and nothing more.'
--Oh, woman's shallow art!
But it is over, it is done,--
I hardly heed it now;
So many weary years have run
Since then, I think not how
Things might have been,--but greet each one
With an unruffled brow.
What time I am where others be,
My heart seems very calm-- 20
Stone calm; but if all go from me,
There comes a vague alarm,
A shrinking in the memory
From some forgotten harm.
And often through the long, long night,
Waking when none are near,
I feel my heart beat fast with fright,
Yet know not what I fear.
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