Neighbors by Edwin Arlington Robinson

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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 surprise, / Nor much that need be told:

Love, with his gift of pain, had given

More than one heart could hold.

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