Again

Well, I've met her again-at the Mission. She'd told me to see her no more; It was not a command-a petition; I'd granted it once before. Yes, granted it, hoping she'd write me. Repenting her virtuous freak- Subdued myself daily and nightly For the better part of a week. And then ('twas my duty to spare her The shame of recalling me) I Just sought her again to prepare her For an everlasting good-bye. O, that evening of bliss-shall I ever Forget it?-with Shakespeare and Poe! She said, when 'twas ended: 'You're never To see me again. And now go.' As we parted with kisses 'twas human And natural for me to smile As I thought, 'She's in love, and a woman: She'll send for me after a while.' But she didn't; and so-well, the Mission Is fine, picturesque and gray; It's an excellent place for contrition And sometimes she passes that way. That's how it occurred that I met her, And that's ah there is to tell- Except that I'd like to forget her Calm way of remarking: 'I'm well.' It was hardly worth while, all this keying My soul to such tensions and stirs To learn that her food was agreeing With that little stomach of hers.