Woman's Portion

By Madison Julius Cawein

I.

The leaves are shivering on the thorn,
Drearily;
And sighing wakes the lean-eyed morn,
Wearily.

I press my thin face to the pane,
Drearily;
But never will he come again.
(Wearily.)

The rain hath sicklied day with haze,
Drearily;
My tears run downward as I gaze,
Wearily.

The mist and morn spake unto me,
Drearily:
What is this thing God gives to thee?
(Wearily.)

I said unto the morn and mist,
Drearily:
The babe unborn whom sin hath kissed.
(Wearily.)

The morn and mist spake unto me,
Drearily:
What is this thing which thou dost see?
(Wearily.)

I said unto the mist and morn,
Drearily:
The shame of man and woman's scorn.
(Wearily.)

He loved thee not, they made reply,
Drearily.
I said Would God had let me die!
(Wearily.)

II.

My dreams are as a closed up book,
(Drearily.)
Upon whose clasp of love I look,
Wearily.

All night the rain raved overhead,
Drearily;
All night I wept awake in bed,
Wearily.

I heard the wind sweep wild and wide,
Drearily;
I turned upon my face and sighed,
Wearily.

The wind and rain spake unto me,
Drearily:
What is this thing God takes from thee?
(Wearily.)

I said unto the rain and wind,
Drearily:
The love, for which my soul hath sinned.
(Wearily.)

The rain and wind spake unto me,
Drearily:
What are these things thou still dost see?
(Wearily.)

I said unto the wind and rain,
Drearily:
Regret, and hope despair hath slain.
(Wearily.)

Thou lov'st him still, they made reply,
Drearily.
I said That God would let me die!
(Wearily.)