Arthur Bayldon

(20 March 1865 - 26 September 1958 / Leeds, England)

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A Woman's Mood


I think to-night I could bear it all,
   Even the arrow that cleft the core, --
Could I wait again for your swift footfall,
   And your sunny face coming in at the door.
With the old frank look and the gay young smile,
   And the ring of the words you used to say;
I could almost deem the pain worth while,
   To greet you again in the olden way!

But you stand without in the dark and cold,
   And I may not open the long closed door,
Nor call thro' the night, with the love of old, --
   "Come into the warmth, as in nights of yore!"
I kneel alone in the red fire-glow,
   And hear the wings of the wind sweep by;
You are out afar in the night, I know,
   And the sough of the wind is like a cry.

You are out afar -- and I wait within,
   A grave-eyed woman whose pulse is slow;
The flames round the red coals softly spin,
   And the lonely room's in a rosy glow.
The firelight falls on your vacant chair,
   And the soft brown rug where you used to stand;
Dear, never again shall I see you there,
   Nor lift my head for your seeking hand.

Yet sometimes still, and in spite of all,
   I wistful look at the fastened door,
And wait again for the swift footfall,
   And the gay young voice as in hours of yore.
It still seems strange to be here alone,
   With the rising sob of the wind without;
The sound takes a deep, insisting tone,
   Where the trees are swinging their arms about.

Its moaning reaches the sheltered room,
   And thrills my heart with a sense of pain;
I walk to the window, and pierce the gloom,
   With a yearning look that is all in vain.
You are out in a night of depths that hold
   No promise of dawning for you and me,
And only a ghost from the life of old
   Has come from the world of memory!

You are out evermore! God wills it so!
   But ah! my spirit is yearning yet!
As I kneel alone by the red fire-glow,
   My eyes grow dim with the old regret.
O when shall the aching throb grow still,
   The warm love-life turn cold at the core!
Must I be watching, against my will,
   For your banished face in the opening door?

It may be, dear, when the sequel's told
   Of the story, read to its bitter close;
When the inner meanings of life unfold,
   And the under-side of our being shows --
It may be then, in that truer light,
   When all our knowledge has larger grown,
I may understand why you stray to-night,
   And I am left, with the past, alone.

Submitted: Saturday, January 04, 2003

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  • Veteran Poet - 3,579 Points Savita Tyagi (5/17/2014 12:39:00 PM)

    Love the intensity of this poem. A heart longing for lost love trying to endure its absence.... Wrapped in aches and pains...... Beautiful write. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Deci Hernandez (5/17/2012 10:06:00 AM)

    i understand(?) how this poor man is just waiting at his fire for his loved one to enter the door again. what draws me to his story is that he seems very persevering in his patience. he' s loyal. and how often in life does loyal get paired with the unloyal? and for what reason? because lovers are so loving that nothing, even a polar shift in personalities can strip the love of remembering. and these will last forever and are worth all the patience in the world. (Report) Reply

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