Divorced

Thinking of one thing all day long, at night     I fall asleep, brain weary and heart sore;     But only for a little while.    At three,     Sometimes at two o'clock, I wake and lie,     Staring out into darkness; while my thoughts     Begin the weary treadmill-toil again,     From that white marriage morning of our youth     Down to this dreadful hour.         I see your face     Lit with the lovelight of the honeymoon;     I hear your voice, that lingered on my name     As if it loved each letter; and I feel     The clinging of your arms about my form,     Your kisses on my cheek - and long to break     The anguish of such memories with tears,     But cannot weep; the fountain has run dry.     We were so young, so happy, and so full     Of keen sweet joy of life.    I had no wish     Outside your pleasure; and you loved me so     That when I sometimes felt a woman's need     For more serene expression of man's love     (The need to rest in calm affection's bay     And not sail ever on the stormy main),     Yet would I rouse myself to your desire;     Meet ardent kiss with kisses just as warm;     So nothing I could give should be denied.     And then our children came.    Deep in my soul,     From the first hour of conscious motherhood,     I knew I should conserve myself for this     Most holy office; knew God meant it so.     Yet even then, I held your wishes first;     And by my double duties lost the bloom     And freshness of my beauty; and beheld     A look of disapproval in your eyes.     But with the coming of our precious child,     The lover's smile, tinged with the father's pride,     Returned again; and helped to make me strong;     And life was very sweet for both of us.     Another, and another birth, and twice     The little white hearse paused beside our door     And took away some portion of my youth     With my sweet babies.    At the first you seemed     To suffer with me, standing very near;     But when I wept too long, you turned away.     And I was hurt, not realising then     My grief was selfish.    I could see the change     Which motherhood and sorrow made in me;     And when I saw the change that came to you,     Saw how your eyes looked past me when you talked,     And when I missed the love tone from your voice,     I did that foolish thing weak women do,     Complained and cried, accused you of neglect,     And made myself obnoxious in your sight.     And often, after you had left my side,     Alone I stood before my mirror, mad     With anger at my pallid cheeks, my dull     Unlighted eyes, my shrunken mother-breasts,     And wept, and wept, and faded more and more.     How could I hope to win back wandering love,     And make new flames in dying embers leap,     By such ungracious means?         And then She came,     Firm-bosomed, round of cheek, with such young eyes,     And all the ways of youth.    I who had died     A thousand deaths, in waiting the return     Of that old love-look to your face once more,     Died yet again and went straight into hell     When I beheld it come at her approach.     My God, my God, how have I borne it all!     Yet since she had the power to wake that look -     The power to sweep the ashes from your heart     Of burned-out love of me, and light new fires,     One thing remained for me - to let you go.     I had no wish to keep the empty frame     From which the priceless picture had been wrenched.     Nor do I blame you; it was not your fault:     You gave me all that most men can give - love     Of youth, of beauty, and of passion; and     I gave you full return; my womanhood     Matched well your manhood.    Yet had you grown ill,     Or old, and unattractive from some cause     (Less close than was my service unto you),     I should have clung the tighter to you, dear;     And loved you, loved you, loved you more and more.     I grow so weary thinking of these things;     Day in, day out; and half the awful nights.