Edwin Arlington Robinson

Neighbors

AS often as we thought of her,
    We thought of a gray life 
That made a quaint economist
    Of a wolf-haunted wife; 
We made the best of all she bore
    That was not ours to bear, 
And honored her for wearing things
    That were not things to wear.

There was a distance in her look
    That made us look again; 
And if she smiled, we might believe
    That we had looked in vain. 
Rarely she came inside our doors,
    And had not long to stay; 
And when she left, it seemed somehow
    That she was far away.

At last, when we had all forgot
    That all is here to change, 
A shadow on the commonplace
    Was for a moment strange. 
Yet there was nothing for suprise,
    Nor much that need be told: 
Love, with its gift of pain, had given
    More than one heart could hold.