INTERIOR
SONNET V

Here in her little room all still and lone
The things that made her life are greeting me.
It seems as though her body as it went
Had left a spirit footprint, mindfully.

'Twould seem as in the mirror-moon were shown
The shadowy glimpse of what she used to be;—
And sing more sad her bird its caged lament,—
And through the room her absence whisper free—

Her gilt-edged book of prayers is lying there
Upon the table; and it says: "The care
Is small of worldlings, — Upon God, thine eye!"

I raise my glance, and in my grief I moan:—
Oh, had I but, that final hour, known
The anguished sweetness of her last goodbye!