In the Room.
71
X.
He saved and folded up one sheet,
And sealed it fast, and let it fall;
And here it lies now white and neat.
Whereon the letters whisper came,
My writing is closed up too well;
Outside there's not a single name,
And who should read me I can't tell.
XI.
(That ancient crack which spoiled her looks
Had marred her temper), Write and write!
And read those stupid, worn- out books!
That's all he does, read, write, and read,
And smoke that nasty pipe which stinks:
He never takes the slightest heed
How any of us feels or thinks.
XII.
Would come and smile here in my face,
Adjust a tress that curled astray,
Or tie a ribbon with more grace:
