 | Poems by William Wetmore Story |  |
219
A BLACK DAY.
I thought it was dead;
That the years had crushed it down and trodden it out
With their cruel tramp and tread;
That nothing was left but the ashes, cold and gray,
Of a love that had wholly passed away,
With its hope, and fear, and joy, and doubt.
But nothing utterly dies;
And again, as I tread the paths of these silent woods,
Where we walked and loved a few long years ago,
And list to the wind's soft sighs
Rustling the solitudes,
And the low, perpetual hum and welling flow
Of the torrent that finds its way
And talks to itself among the mossy, gray
And unchanged boulders and stones—
Again, with a sudden, sharp surprise,
The old life leaps anew with a rush before me:
The cloud of these dreary years that have darkened o'er me
Lifts and passes, and you are again beside me:
The tones of your voice I hear; I look in your tender eyes,
And I fiercely and vainly long for what is denied me,
And I curse my cruel fate, as I cursed it then.
That the years had crushed it down and trodden it out
With their cruel tramp and tread;
That nothing was left but the ashes, cold and gray,
Of a love that had wholly passed away,
With its hope, and fear, and joy, and doubt.
But nothing utterly dies;
And again, as I tread the paths of these silent woods,
Where we walked and loved a few long years ago,
And list to the wind's soft sighs
Rustling the solitudes,
And the low, perpetual hum and welling flow
Of the torrent that finds its way
And talks to itself among the mossy, gray
And unchanged boulders and stones—
Again, with a sudden, sharp surprise,
The old life leaps anew with a rush before me:
The cloud of these dreary years that have darkened o'er me
220
The tones of your voice I hear; I look in your tender eyes,
And I fiercely and vainly long for what is denied me,
And I curse my cruel fate, as I cursed it then.
Ah! what has brought me here to this fatal glen?
I would that the sky was a globe of fragile glass,
That I to atoms might dash it;
And the flowers, and the trees, and the whole wide world around
Were all at my very feet lying here on the ground,
That I into flinders might dash it.
With a terrible impotent rage my close-clenched hand
I shake at these pitiless skies that glare above,
And the smothered flame of a wild, despairing love,
One breath of the breeze with a sudden strength has fanned
To a world-wide conflagration;
And I cry in a torture of pain,
With a cry that is all in vain,—
Come back, come back again,
And deny me not in my desperation
The love that I crave,—the love you denied of yore!
Come back and behold me, and into my spirit pour
Some balm of consolation;
Or strike me dead to the earth, that I no more
May grovel, tortured in spirit and wild with grief,
Looking out all over the world in vain for relief.
Come back, I implore!
I would that the sky was a globe of fragile glass,
That I to atoms might dash it;
And the flowers, and the trees, and the whole wide world around
Were all at my very feet lying here on the ground,
That I into flinders might dash it.
With a terrible impotent rage my close-clenched hand
I shake at these pitiless skies that glare above,
And the smothered flame of a wild, despairing love,
One breath of the breeze with a sudden strength has fanned
To a world-wide conflagration;
And I cry in a torture of pain,
With a cry that is all in vain,—
Come back, come back again,
And deny me not in my desperation
The love that I crave,—the love you denied of yore!
Come back and behold me, and into my spirit pour
221
Or strike me dead to the earth, that I no more
May grovel, tortured in spirit and wild with grief,
Looking out all over the world in vain for relief.
Come back, I implore!
Curses upon the place, the time, the hour,
When first I met you;
Curses upon myself, that am all without the power,
Despite my will, to forget you!
Ah, would to God that you for an hour's brief space—
Only an hour—might suffer as I do!
Ah, would to God that you were here in my place,
With the barb in your heart, like a deer at the end of the race,
With naught but despair beside you,
Nothing but death and the heartless skies above,
That laugh alike at our joy and our grief and our love.
When first I met you;
Curses upon myself, that am all without the power,
Despite my will, to forget you!
Ah, would to God that you for an hour's brief space—
Only an hour—might suffer as I do!
Ah, would to God that you were here in my place,
With the barb in your heart, like a deer at the end of the race,
With naught but despair beside you,
Nothing but death and the heartless skies above,
That laugh alike at our joy and our grief and our love.
But no! ah no! you are happy, and gay, and glad.
And what care you for the memories dark and sad
That have ruined my hereafter!
Brook-like, above my broken hopes that lie
Hidden, perchance, beneath your memory
Your light thoughts run with laughter.
I see you smiling,—I know you are smiling still;
At the fountain of joy you stoop and drink your fill,
Careless whose heart you are breaking.
But the terrible thirst with which I am curst,
Ah me! is beyond all slaking;
For the stream of which I am drinking
Is a torrent of fire and fierce desire.
For me there is no more thinking,
No more hoping, or dreaming, or yearning,
No more living, and no more laughing,
Nothing for me but that fountain burning,
Where my spirit is ever quaffing.
And what care you for the memories dark and sad
That have ruined my hereafter!
Brook-like, above my broken hopes that lie
Hidden, perchance, beneath your memory
Your light thoughts run with laughter.
I see you smiling,—I know you are smiling still;
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Careless whose heart you are breaking.
But the terrible thirst with which I am curst,
Ah me! is beyond all slaking;
For the stream of which I am drinking
Is a torrent of fire and fierce desire.
For me there is no more thinking,
No more hoping, or dreaming, or yearning,
No more living, and no more laughing,
Nothing for me but that fountain burning,
Where my spirit is ever quaffing.
Curses upon the hour and the place, I say!
Why did my footsteps lead me here?
Will these wild memories never pass away?
Can I never forget you? Ah, too dear, too dear!
Never while life shall last,
Never, ah never, till all the world has passed!
Why did my footsteps lead me here?
Will these wild memories never pass away?
Can I never forget you? Ah, too dear, too dear!
Never while life shall last,
Never, ah never, till all the world has passed!
| Poems by William Wetmore Story | |