XIX. The The Lady's Sonnet. Twilight.

By Christopher Pearse Cranch

I know not why I chose to seem so cold
At parting from you; for since you are gone
I see you still — I hear each word, each tone;
And what I hid from you I wish were told.
I, who was proud and shy, seem now too bold
To write these lines — and yet must write to own
I would unsay my words, now I’m alone.
From my dark window out upon the wold
I look. ‘Twas through yon pathway to the west
I watched you going, while the sunset light
Went with you — and a shadow seemed to fall
Upon my heart. And now I cannot rest
Till I have written; for I said, ‘To-night
I’ll send your answer.’ Now I’ve told you all.

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