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<h2>DIVORCED</h2> Thinking of one thing all day long, at night I fall asleep, brain weary and heart sore; But only for a little while.  At three, Sometimes at two o’clock, I wake and lie, Staring out into darkness; while my thoughts Begin the weary treadmill-toil again, From that white marriage morning of our youth Down to this dreadful hour.       I see your face Lit with the lovelight of the honeymoon; I hear your voice, that lingered on my name As if it loved each letter; and I feel The clinging of your arms about my form, Your kisses on my cheek—and long to break The anguish of such memories with tears, But cannot weep; the fountain has run dry. p. 80We were so young, so happy, and so full Of keen sweet joy of life.  I had no wish Outside your pleasure; and you loved me so That when I sometimes felt a woman’s need For more serene expression of man’s love (The need to rest in calm affection’s bay And not sail ever on the stormy main), Yet would I rouse myself to your desire; Meet ardent kiss with kisses just as warm; So nothing I could give should be denied. And then our children came.  Deep in my soul, From the first hour of conscious motherhood, I knew I should conserve myself for this Most holy office; knew God meant it so. Yet even then, I held your wishes first; And by my double duties lost the bloom And freshness of my beauty; and beheld A look of disapproval in your eyes. But with the coming of our precious child, The lover’s smile, tinged with the father’s pride, Returned again; and helped to make me strong; And life was very sweet for both of us. Another, and another birth, and twice The little white hearse paused beside our door And took away some portion of my youth With my sweet babies.  At the first you seemed To suffer with me, standing very near; But when I wept too long, you turned away. And I was hurt, not realising then My grief was selfish.  I could see the change Which motherhood and sorrow made in me; And when I saw the change that came to you, Saw how your eyes looked past me when you talked, And when I missed the love tone from your voice, I did that foolish thing weak women do, Complained and cried, accused you of neglect, And made myself obnoxious in your sight. And often, after you had left my side, Alone I stood before my mirror, mad With anger at my pallid cheeks, my dull Unlighted eyes, my shrunken mother-breasts, And wept, and wept, and faded more and more. How could I hope to win back wandering love, And make new flames in dying embers leap, By such ungracious means?       And then She came, Firm-bosomed, round of cheek, with such young eyes, And all the ways of youth.  I who had died A thousand deaths, in waiting the return Of that old love-look to your face once more, Died yet again and went straight into hell When I beheld it come at her approach. My God, my God, how have I borne it all! Yet since she had the power to wake that look— The power to sweep the ashes from your heart Of burned-out love of me, and light new fires, One thing remained for me—to let you go. I had no wish to keep the empty frame From which the priceless picture had been wrenched. Nor do I blame you; it was not your fault: You gave me all that most men can give—love Of youth, of beauty, and of passion; and I gave you full return; my womanhood Matched well your manhood.  Yet had you grown ill, Or old, and unattractive from some cause (Less close than was my service unto you), I should have clung the tighter to you, dear; And loved you, loved you, loved you more and more. I grow so weary thinking of these things; Day in, day out; and half the awful nights. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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