 | Plays and poems |  |
367
II.
A MYSTERY.
Just as the twilight shades turn darker,
There is a maiden passes me;
Many and many a time I mark her,
Wondering who that maid can be.
There is a maiden passes me;
Many and many a time I mark her,
Wondering who that maid can be.
Sometimes she bears her music, fastened
Scroll-like around with silken twine;
And once—although she blushed and hastened,
I knew it—she bore a book of mine.
Scroll-like around with silken twine;
And once—although she blushed and hastened,
I knew it—she bore a book of mine.
In cold or heat, I never passed her,
Beneath serene or threatening skies,
That she upon me did not cast her
Strong, full, and steady hazel eyes.
Beneath serene or threatening skies,
That she upon me did not cast her
Strong, full, and steady hazel eyes.
Eyes of such wondrous inner meaning,
So filled with light, so deep, so true,
As if her thoughts disclaimed all screening,
And clustered in them, looking through.
So filled with light, so deep, so true,
As if her thoughts disclaimed all screening,
And clustered in them, looking through.
Thus, day by day, we meet; no greeting,
No sign she makes, no word she says;
Unless our eyes salute at meeting,
And she says somewhat by her gaze.
No sign she makes, no word she says;
Unless our eyes salute at meeting,
And she says somewhat by her gaze.
368
Says what? At first her looks were often
As cheering as the sun above;
Next they began to dim and soften,
Like glances from a brooding dove.
As cheering as the sun above;
Next they began to dim and soften,
Like glances from a brooding dove.
Then wonder, then reproach, concealing
A coming anger, I could see:
I passed, but felt her eyes were stealing
Around, and following after me.
A coming anger, I could see:
I passed, but felt her eyes were stealing
Around, and following after me.
Before me once, with firm possession,
She almost paused, and hung upon
The very verge of some confession;
But maiden coyness led her on.
She almost paused, and hung upon
The very verge of some confession;
But maiden coyness led her on.
Sometimes I think the maid indulges
An idle fancy by the way;
Sometimes I think her look divulges
A deeper sign—a mind astray.
An idle fancy by the way;
Sometimes I think her look divulges
A deeper sign—a mind astray.
This eve she met me, wild with laughter,
More sad than weeping would have been—
A pang before, a sorrow after;
Tell me, what can the maiden mean?
More sad than weeping would have been—
A pang before, a sorrow after;
Tell me, what can the maiden mean?
| Plays and poems | |