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IF he should live a thousand years / He'd find it not again / That scorn of him by men / Could less disturb a woman's trust / In him as a steadfast star which must / Rise scathless from the nether spheres: / If he should live a thousand years / He'd find it not again.
She waited like a little child, / Unchilled by damps of doubt, / While from her eyes looked out / A confidence sublime as Spring's / When stressed by Winter's loiterings. / Thus, howsoever the wicked wiled, / She waited like a little child / Unchilled by damps of doubt.
Through cruel years and crueller / Thus she believed in him / And his aurore, so dim; / That, after fenweeds, flowers would blow; / And above all things did she show / Her faith in his good faith with her; / Through cruel years and crueller / Thus she believed in him!