Woman's Portion.

I. The leaves are shivering on the thorn, Drearily; And sighing wakes the lean-eyed morn, Wearily. I press my thin face to the pane, Drearily; But never will he come again. (Wearily.) The rain hath sicklied day with haze, Drearily; My tears run downward as I gaze, Wearily. The mist and morn spake unto me, Drearily: "What is this thing God gives to thee?" (Wearily.) I said unto the morn and mist, Drearily: "The babe unborn whom sin hath kissed." (Wearily.) The morn and mist spake unto me, Drearily: "What is this thing which thou dost see?" (Wearily.) I said unto the mist and morn, Drearily: "The shame of man and woman's scorn." (Wearily.) "He loved thee not," they made reply. Drearily. I said, "Would God had let me die!" (Wearily.) II. My dreams are as a closed up book, (Drearily.) Upon whose clasp of love I look, Wearily. All night the rain raved overhead, Drearily; All night I wept awake in bed, Wearily. I heard the wind sweep wild and wide, Drearily; I turned upon my face and sighed, Wearily. The wind and rain spake unto me, Drearily: "What is this thing God takes from thee?" (Wearily.) I said unto the rain and wind, Drearily: "The love, for which my soul hath sinned." (Wearily.) The rain and wind spake unto me, Drearily: "What are these things thou still dost see?" (Wearily.) I said unto the wind and rain, Drearily: "Regret, and hope despair hath slain." (Wearily.) "Thou lov'st him still," they made reply, Drearily. I said, "That God would let me die!" (Wearily.)