I - On Christmas Eve

Late on Christmas Eve, in the street alone,
Outside a house, on the pavement-stone,
I sang to her, as we’d sung together
On former eves ere I felt her tether. -
Above the door of green by me
Was she, her casement seen by me;
       &nbsp But she would not heed
       &nbsp What I melodied
       &nbsp In my soul’s sore need -
       &nbsp She would not heed.

Cassiopeia overhead,
And the Seven of the Wain, heard what I said
As I bent me there, and voiced, and fingered
Upon the strings. . . . Long, long I lingered:
Only the curtains hid from her
One whom caprice had bid from her;
       &nbsp But she did not come,
       &nbsp And my heart grew numb
       &nbsp And dull my strum;
       &nbsp She did not come.

II - A Year Later
I skimmed the strings; I sang quite low;
I hoped she would not come or know
That the house next door was the one now dittied,
Not hers, as when I had played unpitied;
- Next door, where dwelt a heart fresh stirred,
My new Love, of good will to me,
Unlike my old Love chill to me,
Who had not cared for my notes when heard:
       &nbsp Yet that old Love came
       &nbsp To the other’s name
       &nbsp As hers were the claim;
       &nbsp Yea, the old Love came

My viol sank mute, my tongue stood still,
I tried to sing on, but vain my will:
I prayed she would guess of the later, and leave me;
She stayed, as though, were she slain by the smart,
She would bear love’s burn for a newer heart.
The tense-drawn moment wrought to bereave me
Of voice, and I turned in a dumb despair
At her finding I’d come to another there.
       &nbsp Sick I withdrew
       &nbsp At love’s grim hue
       &nbsp Ere my last Love knew;
       &nbsp Sick I withdrew.