University of Virginia Library

How bright, how glad, how gay,
To thee, O Nina, dear!
Day after day slipped smooth away,
Through childhood's simple joy and simple fear.
Strained by no adverse force,
Life, like a clear and placid stream
In some delightful clime,
Bearing the sky within it like a dream,
And all the fair reflected shapes of time,
Flowed on its gentle course!
How many a time, oppressed with gloom,
While sitting in my lonely room,
And toiling at my task,
Neglected, humble, wan with care,
Aspiring, hoping, though I did not dare
Fate 's laurelled prize to ask,
Have I been gladdened by that voice of thine,
Singing, perhaps, some trivial song of mine,
And listened, and looked up, and felt a thrill
Come o'er my heart—as over waters still
A light breeze flutters—and almost forgot,
Hearing that happy voice, my wretched lot.
Years went; the round and rosy face
Grew fairer, paler; and as Childhood went,
Came Maidenhood's more tender grace
And thoughtful sentiment:
And when the first soft airs of Spring
Wooed the flowers forth, and with a subtle fire
Stirred in the human heart a vague desire
For what life cannot bring,
Often I watched you moving to and fro
The alleys of the garden-plot below,
Your white gown 'mid the roses fluttering;
And now you paused to train some wandering spray
With almost a caress,
And now you plucked some last year's leaf away
That marred its perfectness;
Or where the lilies of the valley grew,
Like them as modest, sweet, and pale of hue,
You bent to breathe their odour, or to give—
Almost it seemed as if they must receive
From you a sweeter odour than they knew.

Sometimes, as lingering there you walked along,
Humming half consciously some little song,
You paused, looked up, and saw me, mute and still,
Gazing upon you from my window-sill;
And with a voice, so glad and clear,
It rang like music on my ear—
You cried, “Antonio! look, Antonio, dear!”
Ah, happy memories!
They bring the burning tears into my eyes.
Oh, speak again, and say, “Antonio, dear!”
Ah, vanished voice! call to me once again!
Never! ah, never! in this world of pain,
No tone like thine my heart will ever thrill.

Oft when the spring its perfumed violets strewed
Along the greensward, 'neath the ilex wood
I strolled with you, how many an afternoon,
In the perfection of the early June—
Not owning to myself, as there we roved,
Not knowing, truly knowing, that I loved;
And all the while your pure young thought
So deeply in my inmost being wrought,
That it became a happy part of me—
And as it were a sweet necessity—
From which I wanted never to be free.

Yet never spoke I of my love; so slow,
So gently in my heart it grew,
That when it fully came I scarcely know—
Not bursting into rapture strange and new,
Splendour and perfume on the air to pour,
That from the sense was hidden in the bud
A little hour before;
But slowly rising, like a tide to brim
My being, widening ever more and more,
And deepening all my central life with dim
Unconscious fullness, till its joy ran o'er.
Then, when I knew at last,
How very dear thou wast,
I dared not trust my tongue to ease the load
Of love that lay upon my heart,
But lonely, silent, and apart,
Of you I dreamed—for you I hourly prayed—
Glad of my secret love, but how afraid!

'T was but a child's affection that you bore
For me—a placid feeling—nothing more.
Across your heart, so gentle and serene,
The burning thrill of love had never been;
And Childhood scarce had given place
To Maidenhood's more subtle grace,
When Death, who darkly steals along
Amid the gentle and the strong,
When least we fear to see his face,
Paused, gazed at you, and took you for his own,
And all the joy from out of my life had flown—
And I was left of all bereft,
Too utterly alone.

Will earth again renew
That simple love for me?—ah, no!
Spring comes again—again the roses blow—
But you—ah, me!—not you!
Oh, Nina! in your grassy grave
I buried what can never grow again;
Life but one perfect joy can have—
That in thy grave is lain!