by G.B. Stuart

When candle-flames burn blue,
Between the night and morning,
I know that it is you,
My love, that was so true,
And that I killed with scorning.

The watch-dogs howl and bay;
I pale, and leave off smiling.
Only the other day
I held your heart in play
Intent upon beguiling.

A little while ago
I wrung your soul with sighing,
Or brought a sudden glow
Into your cheek by low
Soft answers, in replying.

My life was all disguise,
A mask of feints and fancies;
I used to lift my eyes,
And take you by surprise
With smiles and upward glances.

And now, where'er I go,
Your sad ghost follows after;
And blue the flame burns low,
And doors creak to and fro,
And silent grows the laughter.

No comments: