The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston

When in sad sweetness and delicious dole
Love whispered her, “Thou lovest,” did she start,
Confronted with that knowledge in her heart?
Or, did she pause to comprehend the whole
Deep meaning of Love's speech, and no word say?
As some musician who, about to play
The sweetest tune his cunning can essay,
Sits with still hands among the harp-chords lain,
Seeming to hearken with his heart and brain
To the dear music, ere it breaks and springs
From out the thrill'd, expectant, shuddering strings.

107

Did she think over love of lovers dead,
And say, “Is such our love?” Did she recall
His steadfast look, his bitter sighs, and all
Sad words that at their parting he had said,
Not thinking he might ever call her his?
Did she smile tenderly in saying this,—
“I, only I, can give to him the bliss
For which he longs; I can his life make fair
By granting in this one his every prayer;
And love permits me now, his soul to save,
Yielding it all the love that it can crave?”

Did she through summer twilight sit alone,
Marking with those intensely peaceful eyes
The sweet and gradual changing of the skies?
And as the birds stopped singing one by one,
And all the sounds of day in lapsing light
Grew silent, while the fast approaching night
Shadow'd the world in peace, before her sight
Did he rise visioned in her solitude?
Ah, surely at such peaceful hours he stood
Before her, and her spirit saw his face,
Bright with the peace of the approaching days!

Did she the coming time anticipate,
And murmur, “Through the deep'ning twilight come,
O thou who lovest me, nor be thou dumb!
Call me again thy life, thy love, thy fate;
Pour out thy love before me, let me see
The very passion of it filling thee:
For so, ah, doubly blessèd it shall be,
To answer, as I then shall make reply,—
‘Oh, heart that thought to live unloved and die!
If love can bring thee heaven, ah, surely then
Thou art no more unblessèd among men?’”

108

Ah, very sweet for such a soul as hers
It must have been to sit and think how soon
His clouded morn should grow to glorious noon:
For sure the crowning joy that love confers
On such high natures, is the sense supreme
Of being solely able to redeem
The heart beloved, fulfilling all its dream,
Making a sad life joyous, saying, “Stand
Henceforth within the boundaries of Love's land.”
Ah, doubtless then she carried in her breast
The double blessing of two hearts at rest!

Unworthy of her love he was, I know,—
He but a minstrel singing in the night
Sad things and strange, unfitted for the light,
Made more for sombre shadows than the glow
Of perfect morn transfiguring the sky.
And if she heard from out the shade his cry
Of bitter singing, and, approaching nigh,
Said softly, “Can you sing no song to prove
The bliss as well as sorrow of great love?”
And made his heart to know, and lips to say,
How love has power to save as well as slay,—

Yea, if her act were such, and such her speech,
Is it for me to shame, with words ill said,
The soul her soul from out the darkness led,
To set in open daylight, in the reach
Of winds and all sweet perfumes? Time shall prove
Whether or not he would have shamed her love.
Till then I pray you that we stand aloof;
For darkness hides her now, and she has done
With loving any underneath the sun.
And he, he waits 'mid shadows sad and strange,
Till grief to rest, and life to death shall change.

University of Virginia Library

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