At Her Grave

I

With your eyes of April blue,
And your mouth
Like a May-rose, fresh with dew,
Of the South,
With your hair as golden sweet
As the ripples of ripe wheat,
How you make my old heart beat!--
Who are you?

II

There is something that I knew,
Long ago,
In your voice that thrills me through
With the glow
Of remembered happiness;
And your look--I can not guess
What it is there, nor express.--
Who are you?

III

You are like her! even the hue
Of her eyes!--
It is strange you stop here, too,
Where she lies!--
Where she lies who was, you see,
All to me a girl could be--
But no wife.--You stare at me.--
Who are you?

IV

Well, I left her. That ’s not new--
God above!
Men, who live so, often do.
’T is n’t love.
So I broke her heart, they say,--
And been wretched since that day:
And our child--don’t turn away!--
Who are you?