The Confidante

By Nora Elizabeth Barnhart

(In “The Independent.”)

I let him in and shut the door,
And when the key was turned,
There leapt a look into his face—
A look I had not learned!

Within the four walls of my heart
He sudden stalked a lord,
Possessed of all he did survey,
To hold by might of sword!

Ah! Then how gray and small the room
That I had deemed so fair!
How paltry were its furnishings,
Its wealth of book and chair!

The wide-flung windows seemed to shrink,
That long my stars had framed!
The stretch of daisy fields and hills
Lay startled and ashamed!

And all my little world was his,
Which once had stretched so wide!
He holds the key upon his palm,
And jingles it with pride!