Lost Love

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!