She did not answer him again
But walked straight to the door;
Her hand nor trembled on the lock,
Nor her foot on the floor,
But as she stood up steadily
She turned, and looked once more.

She turned, and looked on him once more:
Her face was very pale;
And from her forehead her long hair
Fell back like a thick veil;
But, though her lips grew white, the fire
Of her eyes did not fail.

Then as she fixed her eyes on him
Old thoughts came back again
Of the dear rambles long ago
Through meadow-land and lane,
When all the woods were full of flowers,
And all the fields of grain.

When all the birds were full of song
Except the turtle dove;
And that sat cooing tenderly
In the green boughs above;
When they hoped the same hopes, and when
He told her of his love.

Old memories came back to her
Of what once made her glad,
Till her heart seemed to stand quite still,
And every pulse she had:
Then the blood rose up to her brain
And she was almost mad.

Yet still she stood there steadily
And looked him in the face;
There was no tear upon her cheek;
Upon her brow no trace
Of the agonizing strife within,
The shame and the disgrace.

And so she stayed a little while
Until she turned once more,
Without a single sob or sigh;
But her heart felt quite sore:
The spirit had been broken, and
The hope of life was o'er.
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