Classic Poem

I remember, long ago,
Ere my teens were twelve & one,
With a fair fair bedfellow
I was warm till morning's sun.

Years she had that doubled mine:
And I puzzled to divine
When at night I started
Why I always found her crying.
She was crying broken-hearted.

By a lamp on the bed,
Lifting slightly on her knees,
Trembling letter-sheets she read,
Clasping beads from foreign seas.

With her forehead on them bow'd
Broken words, & half-aloud,
Read she—all her body shaking—
Till my heart nigh burst with aching.

Then her neck I took with a leap
In my arms, & sought to know
What it was that made her weep,
My own darling bedfellow.

And she kissed me, made the room
Soft again with tender gloom:
In against her bosom drew me
Till her dear heart panted thro' me.