C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Susan Marr Spalding (1841–1908)

LOVE was erewhile my guest, but did outstay

His welcome in my breast. Be it confessed

I wearied of his raptures, his unrest,

His smiles, his tears, his too capricious sway.

At last, with show of grief, Love went his way,

Leaving me free to bid a nobler guest.

Now is my dwelling garnished, swept, and dressed

With rarest bloom, for him who comes to-day.

Ah, what new worlds of joy we two shall trace!

What clear, calm realms of thought we shall explore!

Yet do I thrill beneath this first embrace

With the old bliss and pain I knew of yore.

Can this be he whose presence I forswore?

Can this be Love with a new voice and face?