Lost Love

I PLAY my sweet old airs— The airs he knew When our love was true— But he does not balk His determined walk, And passes up the stairs.

I sing my songs once more, And presently hear His footstep near As if it would stay; But he goes his way, And shuts a distant door.

So I wait for another morn And another night In this soul-sick blight; And I wonder much As I sit, why such A woman as I was born!