In the Evening

I sit alone and watch the cinders glare,
Or hear the pine-logs crackling sharp and low.
I wait him still; he went not long ago,
Humming a tune, his cigarette aflare.

He was called out by some most grave affair;
His friends, on cards intent, would have it so;
Or some new singer’s style he fain would know,
Who with false graces mars a grand old air.

And for such things as these he stays away,
Till midnight passes, and, at one, the bell
Booms from the neighbouring church its single flight;

Then gaily he returns, and half in play
Kisses me lightly, asks if I am well,
And never dreams that I have wept all night.

Love Poem by G. A. Greene, from the Italian of Countess Lara

Love Art – Retiring (1883) by Edgar Degas. Original from the Art Institute of Chicago.