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(2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928 / Dorchester / England)

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A Week

On Monday night I closed my door,
And thought you were not as heretofore,
And little cared if we met no more.


I seemed on Tuesday night to trace
Something beyond mere commonplace
In your ideas, and heart, and face.


On Wednesday I did not opine
Your life would ever be one with mine,
Though if it were we should well combine.


On Thursday noon I liked you well,
And fondly felt that we must dwell
Not far apart, whatever befell.


On Friday it was with a thrill
In gazing towards your distant vill
I owned you were my dear one still.


I saw you wholly to my mind
On Saturday - even one who shrined
All that was best of womankind.


As wing-clipt sea-gull for the sea
On Sunday night I longed for thee,
Without whom life were waste to me!

Submitted: Saturday, April 10, 2010


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