The Vestal

She goes unwedded all her days
Because some man she never knew,
Her destined mate, has won his bays,
Passed the low door of darkness through.

Sometimes she has a wild surmise
Of what dear name he used to have,
And what the colour of his eyes,
And was he gay, or was he grave.

Or if his hair was brown or gold,
Or if his voice was low and clear
To tell his love with, never told
To hers or any woman's ear.

His voice is lost upon the wind
And when the rain beats on her heart
His eyes elude her, warm and kind,
Where the dim shadows steal apart.

What of their children all unborn?
What of the house they should have built?
She wanders through her days forlorn,
The untasted cup of joy is spilt.

She lives unwedded, -- as for him
He sleeps too sound for any fret
At their lost kisses, or the dream
Of the poor girl he never met.