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Poem	By Mellstock Lodge and Avenue Towards her door I went, And sunset on her window-panes Reflected our intent. The creeper on the gable nigh Was fired to more than red And when I came to halt thereby "Bright as my joy!" I said. Of late days it had been her aim To meet me in the hall; Now at my footsteps no one came; And no one to my call. Again I knocked; and tardily An inner step was heard, And I was shown her presence then With scarce an answering word. She met me, and but barely took My proffered warm embrace; Preoccupation weighed her look, And hardened her sweet face. "To-morrow--could you--would you call? Make brief your present stay? My child is ill--my one, my all! - And can't be left to-day." And then she turns, and gives commands As I were out of sound, Or were no more to her and hers Than any neighbour round . . . - As maid I wooed her; but one came And coaxed her heart away, And when in time he wedded her I deemed her gone for aye. He won, I lost her; and my loss I bore I know not how; But I do think I suffered then Less wretchedness than now. For Time, in taking him, had oped An unexpected door Of bliss for me, which grew to seem Far surer than before . . . Her word is steadfast, and I know That plighted firm are we: But she has caught new love-calls since She smiled as maid on me!
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