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132
A MAN'S STORY.
In the sad, long years, the estranging
That lie, like a sombre screen
Twixt thy lawless, impassioned ranging,
And quiet that since hath been;
I have heard of an heart whose loving
Turned ne'er from thy perilous wake,
Outdaring the world's reproving,
And anguish of death for thy sake.
That lie, like a sombre screen
Twixt thy lawless, impassioned ranging,
And quiet that since hath been;
I have heard of an heart whose loving
Turned ne'er from thy perilous wake,
Outdaring the world's reproving,
And anguish of death for thy sake.
Now, as thou sit'st silent beside me,
While the sunset draws near its end,
And the down of the evening may hide me,
Speak tenderly, friend to friend.
While the fading mountains before thee
Call the heights of thy wandering back,
Recount me the love she bore thee,
That failed not, for wrench or rack.
While the sunset draws near its end,
And the down of the evening may hide me,
Speak tenderly, friend to friend.
While the fading mountains before thee
Call the heights of thy wandering back,
Recount me the love she bore thee,
That failed not, for wrench or rack.
133
She laid her soft hand in my bosom,
She bowed her young head at my feet;
She strewed with wild beauty and blossom
The ways we rehearsed to meet.
She withered in my displeasure,
Was humblest before my praise,
She lavished her heart's best treasure,
Unconscious of years or days.
She bowed her young head at my feet;
She strewed with wild beauty and blossom
The ways we rehearsed to meet.
She withered in my displeasure,
Was humblest before my praise,
She lavished her heart's best treasure,
Unconscious of years or days.
She thought to afford me only
The worship that was my due,
A rapture intense and lonely,
That endless time should renew;
To sit in her place and behold me
Transfigured, as some fair star,
With a heart leaping up to enfold me,
Was a dream that she followed far.
The worship that was my due,
A rapture intense and lonely,
That endless time should renew;
To sit in her place and behold me
Transfigured, as some fair star,
With a heart leaping up to enfold me,
Was a dream that she followed far.
But, as beacon replies to beacon,
So Love answered back to Love.
Towards her blind unreasoned seeking
My soul in its might did move;
The might of a man in his willing,
That stays not for law or bound,
That strides to its rash fulfilling,
Then glances, aghast, around.
So Love answered back to Love.
Towards her blind unreasoned seeking
My soul in its might did move;
The might of a man in his willing,
That stays not for law or bound,
That strides to its rash fulfilling,
Then glances, aghast, around.
134
We met, and the shock astonished,
But my arms were about her then;
By my fervent pleading admonished,
She smiled, and took heart again.
Thenceforth, as the moon in her glory
Keeps heaven, through the storm-cloud's gloom,
She carried her torchlight before me,
Steadfast, till death and doom.
But my arms were about her then;
By my fervent pleading admonished,
She smiled, and took heart again.
Thenceforth, as the moon in her glory
Keeps heaven, through the storm-cloud's gloom,
She carried her torchlight before me,
Steadfast, till death and doom.
The world made the struggle that followed,
A wreck lies astrand on its shore,
Where wild wrath of wild powers swallowed
Love's treasures forevermore—
When the terrible sequel o'ertook her,
I felt, and was pained in her pain,
But as Prudence decreed, I forsook her,
To comfort her, never again.
A wreck lies astrand on its shore,
Where wild wrath of wild powers swallowed
Love's treasures forevermore—
When the terrible sequel o'ertook her,
I felt, and was pained in her pain,
But as Prudence decreed, I forsook her,
To comfort her, never again.
Between us, a silence of torment,
That each is disdainful to break,
That fretteth the soul as a garment,
That stingeth the heart, like a snake—
Should we meet, no sweet spasm of yearning,
No startle of thrilling surprise,
Our sad eyes are lowered, discerning
The grave where the best of us lies.
That each is disdainful to break,
That fretteth the soul as a garment,
That stingeth the heart, like a snake—
Should we meet, no sweet spasm of yearning,
No startle of thrilling surprise,
Our sad eyes are lowered, discerning
The grave where the best of us lies.
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