On Monday night I closed my door, And thought you were not as heretofore, And little cared if we met no more.
I seemed on Tuesday night to trace Something beyond mere commonplace In your ideas, and heart, and face.
On Wednesday I did not opine Your life would ever be one with mine, Though if it were we should well combine.
On Thursday noon I liked you well, And fondly felt that we must dwell Not far apart, whatever befell.
On Friday it was with a thrill In gazing towards your distant vill I owned you were my dear one still.
I saw you wholly to my mind On Saturday--even one who shrined All that was best of womankind.
As wing-clipt sea-gull for the sea On Sunday night I longed for thee, Without whom life were waste to me!
