Page:Poems Piatt.djvu/111

So it will be dark. The bell?—
 Some one some one loves is dead.
Were it he———! I cannot tell
 Half the fretful words I said,
 Half the fretful tears I shed.

Dead? And but to think of death!—
 Men might bring him through the gate:
Lips that have not any breath,
 Eyes that stare———And I must wait!
 Is it time, or is it late?

I was wrong, and wrong, and wrong;
 I will tell him, oh, be sure!
If the heavens are builded strong,
 Love shall therein be secure;
 Love like mine shall there endure.

. . . Listen, listen—that is he!
 I'll not speak to him, I say.
If he choose to say to me,
 "I was all to blame to-day;
 Sweet, forgive me," why—I may!