At Midnight

The room is cold and dark to-night:
The fire is low,—
Why come you, you who love the light,
To mock me so?

I pray you leave me now alone;
You worked your will,
And turned my heart to frozen stone,—
Why haunt me still?

I got me to this empty place;
I shut the door,—
Yet through the dark I see your face
Just as of yore.

The old smile curves your lips to-night;
Your deep eyes glow
With that old gleam that made them bright
So long ago.

I listen: do I hear your tone
The silence thrill?
Why come you? I would be alone;
Why vex me still?

What! Would you that we re-embrace,—
We two once more?
Are these your tears that wet my face
Just as before?

You left to seek some new delight,
Yet your tears flow;
What sorrow brings you back to-night?
Shall I not know?

I will not let you grieve alone,—
The night is chill,—
Though love is dead and hope has flown,
Pity lives still.

How silent is the empty space!
Dreamed I once more?
Henceforth against your haunting face
I bar the door.
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