Long are the hours the sun is above.
But when evening comes I go home to my love.
I'm away the daylight hours and more,
Yet she comes not down to open the door.
She does not meet me upon the stair, —
She sits in my chamber and waits for me there.
As I enter the room she does not move :
I always walk straight up to my love;
And she lets me take my wonted place
At her side, and gaze in her dear dear face.
There as I sit, from her head thrown back
Her hair falls straight in a shadow black.
Aching and hot as my tired eyes be,
She is all that I wish to see.
And in my wearied and toil-dinned ear,
She says all things that I wish to hear.
Dusky and duskier grows the room,
Yet I see her best in the darker gloom.
When the winter eves are early and cold.
The firelight hours are a dream of gold.
And so I sit here night by night.
In rest and enjoyment of love's delight.
But a knock at the door, a step on the stair
Will startle, alas, my love from her chair.
If a stranger comes she will not stay:
At the first alarm she is off and away.
And he wonders, my guest, usurping her throne.
That I sit so much by myself alone.