As often as we thought of her,
       &nbsp We thought of a gray life
That made a quaint economist
       &nbsp Of a wolf-haunted wife;
We made the best of all she bore
       &nbsp That was not ours to bear,
And honored her for wearing things
       &nbsp That were not things to wear.

There was a distance in her look
       &nbsp That made us look again;
And if she smiled, we might believe
       &nbsp That we had looked in vain.
Rarely she came inside our doors,
       &nbsp And had not long to stay;
And when she left, it seemed somehow
       &nbsp That she was far away.

At last, when we had all forgot
       &nbsp That all is here to change,
A shadow on the commonplace
       &nbsp Was for a moment strange.
Yet there was nothing for surprise,
       &nbsp Nor much that need be told:
Love, with his gift of pain, had given
       &nbsp More than one heart could hold.