 | Under The Aspens |  |
43
So the river—yes, the river; I have come to that at last;
The river is my only friend, though changed with all the rest,
Dark and sullen, it has known me in the glory of my past
And has smiled upon me then; for very shame it could not cast
Me forth if I should seek the barren haven of its breast.
The river is my only friend, though changed with all the rest,
Dark and sullen, it has known me in the glory of my past
And has smiled upon me then; for very shame it could not cast
Me forth if I should seek the barren haven of its breast.
Give me shelter, sullen river, hide me out of sight and ken,
Keep your dreams, I have outdreamed them, all your golden visions keep;
Though with festering forms you hold me in some scooped-out, slimy den,
In your loathliest recesses, keep me safe from eyes of men,
And for all the joy I had of you but give me quiet sleep.
Keep your dreams, I have outdreamed them, all your golden visions keep;
Though with festering forms you hold me in some scooped-out, slimy den,
In your loathliest recesses, keep me safe from eyes of men,
And for all the joy I had of you but give me quiet sleep.
44
No, that may not be awhile; I know that I must pass again
By the ways that I have come, that when the waters enter in,
They will meet my lingering life and drive it backward through the brain;
I shall go to final peace as through a burning lake of pain;—
Who can say but that the devils of that after-time may win?
By the ways that I have come, that when the waters enter in,
They will meet my lingering life and drive it backward through the brain;
I shall go to final peace as through a burning lake of pain;—
Who can say but that the devils of that after-time may win?
Soft! the river did not hear them—has no knowledge of my foes,
And it may be if it see no sign and hear no word of me,
It will pass and leave them sleeping, them and all their train of woes,—
And will only waken tenderly the pleasures that it knows,
And so let me take farewell of love ere I have ceased to be!
And it may be if it see no sign and hear no word of me,
It will pass and leave them sleeping, them and all their train of woes,—
And will only waken tenderly the pleasures that it knows,
And so let me take farewell of love ere I have ceased to be!
But the pack of them that came again and found me in the church,
And hunted me from place to place all day, yet never caught,
Till I heard the river call, and fled, and left them in the lurch,
And lay silent in the shadow, while they past me in their search—
No, I think the river never knew that it was me they sought.
And hunted me from place to place all day, yet never caught,
45
And lay silent in the shadow, while they past me in their search—
No, I think the river never knew that it was me they sought.
How they mocked me, how they scoffed at all, and most of all at him,
As he knelt before the altar with that woman at his side,
Dressed in cobwebs spun in cellars where the spinners' eyes grow dim;
How the devils in their triumph yelled aloud and drowned the hymn,
When they lifted up the cobwebs and his mother kissed the bride.
As he knelt before the altar with that woman at his side,
Dressed in cobwebs spun in cellars where the spinners' eyes grow dim;
How the devils in their triumph yelled aloud and drowned the hymn,
When they lifted up the cobwebs and his mother kissed the bride.
Hush, the river must not know that I had ever seen her face,
Must not know she came and found me when my torturers had fled;
Hah! for me she had no kiss, but sat aloof in pride of race,
Though I yearned to her—his mother—till she offered me a place
In the service of the living, never noting I was dead.
Must not know she came and found me when my torturers had fled;
Hah! for me she had no kiss, but sat aloof in pride of race,
46
In the service of the living, never noting I was dead.
I had yearned to those cold eyes, because I saw his eyes look through,
And, as out of frozen windows of a prison, gaze at me;
Had they softened with a tear, I think, my tears had fallen too,
And perhaps my heart in melting would have brought my life anew,—
But to put to cruel uses—no! forbear my tears, let be!
And, as out of frozen windows of a prison, gaze at me;
Had they softened with a tear, I think, my tears had fallen too,
And perhaps my heart in melting would have brought my life anew,—
But to put to cruel uses—no! forbear my tears, let be!
It was she who kissed the bride, he dared not touch her in my sight,
For he felt my ghostly presence and my shadow rise between;
But they past me by together, and she has him day and night,
With my shadow growing less and less until it dwindles quite,
Or is swallowed of her substance, and abides with him unseen.
For he felt my ghostly presence and my shadow rise between;
But they past me by together, and she has him day and night,
With my shadow growing less and less until it dwindles quite,
Or is swallowed of her substance, and abides with him unseen.
47
And she will be a growing power and potency, the years—
The treacherous years will take her part and ravish him from me,
And she will make a title out of daily smiles and tears,
And will pass to fuller blessedness through weakness which endears,
And I shall be as one forbid before I cease to be.
The treacherous years will take her part and ravish him from me,
And she will make a title out of daily smiles and tears,
And will pass to fuller blessedness through weakness which endears,
And I shall be as one forbid before I cease to be.
O thou blessed among women more than all of woman born!
Be my sister, be my comforter; nay, wherefore cold and proud?
We are bound as in one web of Fate, the garland that was worn
Of thee to-day, but yestereen from off my brows was torn,
And that costly bridal robe of thine must serve me for a shroud.
Be my sister, be my comforter; nay, wherefore cold and proud?
We are bound as in one web of Fate, the garland that was worn
Of thee to-day, but yestereen from off my brows was torn,
And that costly bridal robe of thine must serve me for a shroud.
Be thou high of heart as happy, leave for me a little space
In the silence of his thoughts, that while you pass from change to change,
I may, balmëd with the dead, lie still with dead unchanging face,
Making fragrant all his seasons—be this granted me for grace—
With some magic of the morning that might else for him grow strange.
In the silence of his thoughts, that while you pass from change to change,
48
Making fragrant all his seasons—be this granted me for grace—
With some magic of the morning that might else for him grow strange.
O my love that loved me truly in the days not long ago,
I am young to perish wholly, let not all of me be lost;
Take me in, and never fear me—nay, I would not work you woe;
Keep for her the cheerful daylight, keep for her the firelight glow,—
Let me wander in the twilight of your thoughts, a harmless ghost.
I am young to perish wholly, let not all of me be lost;
Take me in, and never fear me—nay, I would not work you woe;
Keep for her the cheerful daylight, keep for her the firelight glow,—
Let me wander in the twilight of your thoughts, a harmless ghost.
Let me steal upon your dreams, and make your broken life complete,
Take me in, no mortal maiden, but the spirit o your youth;
I have done with earthly longings, and their memory, bitter sweet,
And would feed you with an essence you should only taste, not eat,
And so keep your soul undying in its tenderness and truth.
Take me in, no mortal maiden, but the spirit o your youth;
I have done with earthly longings, and their memory, bitter sweet,
49
And so keep your soul undying in its tenderness and truth.
I may rise from out the shadow, there is none upon my track;
One might think the world was dead but for the city's ceaseless moan;
Not a foot of man or beast a-near, and for that demon pack,
They have lost and left me utterly—but, hist! they may come back—
What is done between us, river, must be seen by us alone.
One might think the world was dead but for the city's ceaseless moan;
Not a foot of man or beast a-near, and for that demon pack,
They have lost and left me utterly—but, hist! they may come back—
What is done between us, river, must be seen by us alone.
You are watching for me, waiting; let me be, my flesh recoils;
What are you that you should sentence me—what evil have I done?
You have ever been my fate; you have and hold me in your toils;—
Yet, O life, I cannot live you, with your fevers and turmoils;
Come and take me, lest it find me at the rising of the sun.
What are you that you should sentence me—what evil have I done?
You have ever been my fate; you have and hold me in your toils;—
Yet, O life, I cannot live you, with your fevers and turmoils;
Come and take me, lest it find me at the rising of the sun.
50
Let me look upon you, river—soh, how deep and still you are!
You will hide me well, for you are dark and secret as the night;
I can see your bosom heave in the reflection of a star,
And it does not show so hard in you, and does not seem so far;
As I drop into the darkness, I shall feel the kiss of light.
You will hide me well, for you are dark and secret as the night;
I can see your bosom heave in the reflection of a star,
And it does not show so hard in you, and does not seem so far;
As I drop into the darkness, I shall feel the kiss of light.
Yet the world is all blurred as with tears; I am looking my last;
I can still hear its moan, though the worst of its sorrow is dumb;—
Farewell to the glimmer of lamps that grow pale in the blast,
And the clock that will measure the time, when my times shall be past!—
See, he opens his arms—O my River—God, clasp me, I come!
I can still hear its moan, though the worst of its sorrow is dumb;—
Farewell to the glimmer of lamps that grow pale in the blast,
And the clock that will measure the time, when my times shall be past!—
See, he opens his arms—O my River—God, clasp me, I come!
| Under The Aspens | |