A Year Later (Serenade)

I skimmed the strings; I sang quite low;     I hoped she would not come or know     That the house next door was the one now dittied,     Not hers, as when I had played unpitied;     - Next door, where dwelt a heart fresh stirred,     My new Love, of good will to me,     Unlike my old Love chill to me,     Who had not cared for my notes when heard:     Yet that old Love came     To the other's name     As hers were the claim;     Yea, the old Love came     My viol sank mute, my tongue stood still,     I tried to sing on, but vain my will:     I prayed she would guess of the later, and leave me;     She stayed, as though, were she slain by the smart,     She would bear love's burn for a newer heart.     The tense-drawn moment wrought to bereave me     Of voice, and I turned in a dumb despair     At her finding I'd come to another there.     Sick I withdrew     At love's grim hue     Ere my last Love knew;     Sick I withdrew.