In The Evening. — From the Italian of Countess Lara
I SIT alone and watch the cinders glare,
Or hear the pine-logs crackling sharp and low.
I wait him still; he went not long ago,
Humming a tune, his cigarette aflare.
He was called out by some most grave affair;
His friends, on cards intent, would have it so;
Or some new singer’s style he fain would know,
Who with false graces mars a grand old air.
And for such things as these he stays away,
Till midnight passes, and, at one, the bell
Booms from the neighbouring church its single flight;
Then gaily he returns, and half in play
Kisses me lightly, asks if I am well,
And never dreams that I have wept all night.
G. A. Greene.