Analysis of Her Death And After

'TWAS a death-bed summons, and forth I went
     By the way of the Western Wall, so drear
     On that winter night, and sought a gate--
        The home, by Fate,
        Of one I had long held dear.

And there, as I paused by her tenement,
     And the trees shed on me their rime and hoar,
     I thought of the man who had left her lone--
        Him who made her his own
        When I loved her, long before.

The rooms within had the piteous shine
     The home-things wear which the housewife miss;
     From the stairway floated the rise and fall
        Of an infant's call,
        Whose birth had brought her to this.

Her life was the price she would pay for that whine--
     For a child by the man she did not love.
     "But let that rest forever," I said,
        And bent my tread
        To the chamber up above.

She took my hand in her thin white own,
     And smiled her thanks--though nigh too weak--
     And made them a sign to leave us there;
        Then faltered, ere
        She could bring herself to speak.

"'Twas to see you before I go--he'll condone
     Such a natural thing now my time's not much--
     When Death is so near it hustles hence
        All passioned sense
        Between woman and man as such!

"My husband is absent. As heretofore
     The City detains him. But, in truth,
     He has not been kind.... I will speak no blame,
        But--the child is lame;
        O, I pray she may reach his ruth!

"Forgive past days--I can say no more--
     Maybe if we'd wedded you'd now repine!...
     But I treated you ill. I was punished. Farewell!
        --Truth shall I tell?
        Would the child were yours and mine!

"As a wife I was true. But, such my unease
     That, could I insert a deed back in Time,
     I'd make her yours, to secure your care;
        And the scandal bear,
        And the penalty for the crime!"

--When I had left, and the swinging trees
     Rang above me, as lauding her candid say,
     Another was I. Her words were enough:
        Came smooth, came rough,
        I felt I could live my day.

Next night she died; and her obsequies
     In the Field of Tombs, by the Via renowned,
     Had her husband's heed. His tendance spent,
        I often went
        And pondered by her mound.

All that year and the next year whiled,
     And I still went thitherward in the gloam;
     But the Town forgot her and her nook,
        And her husband took
        Another Love to his home.

And the rumor flew that the lame lone child
     Whom she wished for its safety child of mine,
     Was treated ill when offspring came
        Of the new-made dame,
        And marked a more vigorous line.

A smarter grief within me wrought
     Than even at loss of her so dear;
     Dead the being whose soul my soul suffused,
        Her child ill-used,
        I helpless to interfere!

One eve as I stood at my spot of thought
     In the white-stoned Garth, brooding thus her wrong,
     Her husband neared; and to shun his view
        By her hallowed mew
        I went from the tombs among

To the Cirque of the Gladiators which faced--
     That haggard mark of Imperial Rome,
     Whose Pagan echoes mock the chime
        Of our Christian time:
        It was void, and I inward clomb.

Scarce had night the sun's gold touch displaced
     From the vast Rotund and the neighboring dead
     When her husband followed; bowed; half-passed,
        With lip upcast;
        Then, halting, sullenly said:

"It is noised that you visit my first wife's tomb.
     Now, I gave her an honored name to bear
     While living, when dead. So I've claim to ask
        By what right you task
        My patience by vigiling there?

"There's decency even in death, I assume;
     Preserve it, sir, and keep away;
     For the mother of my first-born you
        Show mind undue!
        --Sir, I've nothing more to say."

A desperate stroke discerned I then--
     God pardon--or pardon not--the lie;
     She had sighed that she wished (lest the child should pine
        Of slights) 'twere mine,
        So I said: "But the father I.

"That you thought it yours is the way of men;
     But I won her troth long ere your day:
     You learnt how, in dying, she