THE BARREN YEAR.

THE BARREN YEAR.
403.1

I think perhaps my heart would be less
If I need not look on lovers any more;
If winter only lasted all the year,
And one could sit alone in thoughtless peace
Beside the chimney-place and only hear
The wind-voice in the open sing and cease,
And gaze toward the frosted pane to know
That all beyond was loneliness and snow.
But oh, the springtime when the birds are rife
And all our little village wakes to life,
And everywhere Spring bids them come again,
As it does roses, all the lovers new-
The stalwart lads who bear them- selves like men,
The wistful little maids half-women, too.
I wish it were not mine to watch them meet,
I wish I might not guess what words they say
Nor what her eyes look as she turns away.
I wish I did not know how all day long,
Busied about her little household cares,
Her thoughts are music and her heart a song-
A harmony of all love dreams and dares.
I wish I might not think when day grows late
How she will lean and listen at the gate.
God knows I would not have their happiness
A lesser thing, or strive to make it less;
Only I wish it were not mine to dwell
So close without the gates of Paradise;
Only I wish I did not know so well
The tenderness that springs in meeting eyes.
I think perhaps my heart would be less sore
If I need not look on lovers any more.
-Theodosia Garrison.