I PLAY my sweet old airs - The airs he knew When our love was true - But he does not balk His determined walk, And passes up the stairs. I sing my songs once more, And presently hear His footstep near As if it would stay; But he goes his way, And shuts a distant door. So I wait for another morn, And another night In this soul-sick blight; And I wonder much As I sit, why such A woman as I was born! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO ATLANTA UNIVERSITY - ITS FOUNDERS AND TEACHERS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A WINTER TWILIGHT by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE THE HERONS OF ELMWOOD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE SONG OF THE DIAL by PETER AIREY AN EPITAPH UPON THE DEATH OF HIS AUNT, ELIZABETH SKRYMSHER by RICHARD BARNFIELD A MIGRANT THRUSH by MARY RUSSELL BARTLETT THE WANDERER: 6. PALINGENSIS: EPILOGUE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |