She goes unwedded all her days

Because some man she never knew,

Her destined mate, has won his bays,

Passed the low door of darkness through.

Sometimes she has a wild surmise

Of what dear name he used to have,

And what the colour of his eyes,

And was he gay or was he grave;

Or if his hair was brown or gold,

Or if his voice was low and clear

To tell his love with, never told

To hers or any woman's ear.

His voice is lost upon the wind;

And when the rain beats on her heart

His eyes elude her, warm and kind,

Where the dim shadows steal apart.

What of their children all unborn?

What of the house they should have built?

She wanders through her days forlorn,

The untasted cup of joy is spilt.

She lives unwedded,—as for him

He sleeps too sound for any fret

At their lost kisses, or any dream

Of the poor girl he never met.