The Impulse

It was too lonely for her there,
           And too wild,
           And since there were but two of them,
           And no child,
           
           And work was little in the house,
           She was free,
           And followed where he furrowed field,
           Or felled tree.
           
           She rested on a log and tossed
           The fresh chips,
           With a song only to herself
           On her lips.
           
           And once she went to break a bough
           Of black alder.
           She strayed so far she scarcely heard
           When he called her—
           
           And didn't answer—didn't speak—
           Or return.
           She stood, and then she ran and hid
           In the fern.
           
           He never found her, though he looked
           Everywhere,
           And he asked at her mother's house
           Was she there.
           
           Sudden and swift and light as that
           The ties gave,
           And he learned of finalities
           Besides the grave.