Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
Before the Gate
By William Dean Howells (18371920)T
To fitful song and jest
To moods of soberness as idle, after,
And silences, as idle too as the rest.
Taciturn, late, and loath,
Through the broad meadow in the sunset burning,
They reached the gate, one fine spell hindered them both.
Such as but women know
That wait, and lest love speak or speak not languish,
And what they would, would rather they would not so;
Of all the wondrous guile
That women won win themselves with, and bending
Eyes of relentless asking on her the while,—
Our steps as far as death,
And I might open it!—” His voice, affrighted
At its own daring, faltered under his breath.
Far beyond words to tell,
Feeling her woman’s finest wit had wanted
The art he had that knew to blunder so well—
“Shall we not be too late
For tea?” she said. “I’m quite worn out with walking:
Yes, thanks, your arm. And will you—open the gate?”