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Augusta Davies Webster - Deserted
Work rating: Medium

No, mother, I am not sad: 
     Why think me sad? I was always still, 
     You remember, even when my heart was most glad 
     And you used to let me dream at my will; 
     And now I like better to watch the sea 
     And the calm sad sky than to laugh with the rest. 
     You know they are full of chatter and glee, 
        And I like the quietness best. 

        Nay, mother, you look so grave. 
   I know what you`re thinking and will not say; 
   But you need not fear; I am growing brave 
   Now that the pain is passing away, 
   And I never weep for him now when alone, 
   For perhaps it was better — who can tell? — 
   That it ended so. I shall soon be well 
      Now that the hardest is known. 

      I am so much stronger to-day 
  I can look at all past and think how it grew 
   And how by degrees it faded away, 
   That light of my life. Ah! when I first knew 
   I had only been a plaything to him 
   Through all my loving, it seemed so strange. 
   If the high noontide at once grew night-dim 
      It would not be such a change. 

     I wonder I did not die. 
   Mother, I`ll own it you now I am strong, 
   I used to wake in the night and lie 
   Wishing and wishing it might not be long — 
   Oh! it was wicked, and you all so kind, 
   How could I wish to bring you a grief? 
   But too much unhappiness makes one blind 
      To all but one`s own relief. 

      I am not so wicked now; 
   You need not fear. I am hoping that still, 
   I am learning to lean on God, and I bow, 
   Yes I think I bow my heart to His will. 
   I found it a long hard struggle to make, 
   To clasp my sorrow and say "It is best," 
   But, believe it, you need not fear for my sake; 
      Yes, mother, I am at rest: 

     Yet, listen, if I should die soon — 
   And I know what they say, though you hide it from me — 
   Mother, you`ll grant me my last-asked boon, 
   That you`ll try not to think it his fault, and if he, 
   Mother, if he should seek you some day, 
   You will not make him a hard reply, 
   But tell him, before I passed away, 
      I sent him kind good-bye. 

      Mother, kiss me, do not cry. 
   I could not keep from speaking of this; 
   It is nothing to say "If I should die," 
   It cannot bring death more near than it is; 
   And I am much stronger. You shall not weep — 
   Who is it tells me that weeping is wrong? 
   But let me lean on your lap and sleep, 
      I lay waking last night too long.
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