The Other

I am the Other — I who come
To heal the wound she gave,
The wound that struck your fond words dumb,
And left your world a grave.

What though you loved her — I love you;
And so the most is said,
Here is my yearning heart, still true
To yours her frailty bled.

(But oh! the bitter grief that I
Kept hushed, the wild despair,
When your dear eyes had passed me by
To find her face so fair.)

Now she hath gone her cruel way,
And I am come again,
To search among the husks to-day
For one sweet golden grain.

Because in me Love's strength is great,
Too great for pride, or sin,
I knock upon your heart's barred gate,
And pray you let me in.