She sat a long time quietly When they had told her he was dead. She did not seem to hear, to see, And not a word of sorrow said. And then she lifted up her head And took her sewing. Could it be She did not care? -- so lately wed, And wed to such a man as he? She took no stitches, but her gaze Looked long upon the garment now, A dainty gown for happy days, When happiness had come somehow -- As beautiful as was her brow, A gown that he would love and praise When she should come with stately bow And all her sweet, old-fashioned ways. Well, they had told her he was dead. For him the gown she would not wear. He would have loved this ruching red Against the darkness of her hair. She took her sewing. Did she care? -- For not a word of grief she said. She lifted up the garment fair And with white fingers snapped the thread. |