THE WIFE

As waters whirl and roughen where they meet
When a calm stream into a river swerves;
Leaving its course that winds through meadows sweet
To join a mightier current which has torn
Its deep swift length, world-long, through rock-bound curves,
On towards the final sea — are these, my days,
When youth flows into age, and I am borne
Through the last channel's sure relentless ways.
Peace I have had the while my years ran on
Along the low shores of the fertile land,
And soon again, beneath a wintry sun,
The cold inevitable peace of age
Shall mark my seaward course. ... I understand. ...
As waters whirl and roughen, — even so,
My life is troubled by a sullen rage
That age must come so soon, and youth must go.

I leave so much, — I, who have borne the cares
Of home-making this long time on my heart, —
A husband still in youth although he bears
More years than I; and children who have grown
A little heedless of my duteous part
In giving them their heritage of life;
Now all seems futile as I stand alone —
A useless mother and an ageing wife.

Oh, then, farewell, — my service-laden years! —
That after all I am not sad to leave,
Despite these childish and uncertain tears;
For at the altar was my freedom slain,
My dreams have all been shattered past retrieve,
And servitude has dulled and broken me. ...
I am a cloud that sends a little rain
To bring forth harvests I shall never see.