I play my sweet old airs -
	The airs he knew
	When our love was true -
	But he does not balk
	His determined walk,
 And passes up the stairs.

 I sing my songs once more,
	And presently hear
	His footstep near
	As if it would stay;
	But he goes his way,
 And shuts a distant door.

 So I wait for another morn
	And another night
	In this soul-sick blight;
	And I wonder much
	As I sit, why such
 A woman as I was born!