 | The silver bridge and other poems |  |
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A WINTER NIGHT.
It was a winter night of stars and frost;—
Two friends, with sportive question and reply,
Leaving a cheerful fireside circle, crossed
The threshold, pausing for a gay good-by.
Two friends, with sportive question and reply,
Leaving a cheerful fireside circle, crossed
The threshold, pausing for a gay good-by.
She speaking lightly, but with earnest eyes
Telling of grief, or feeling long repressed—
He courtly but severe and worldly-wise—
A hostess, speeding her departing guest.
Telling of grief, or feeling long repressed—
He courtly but severe and worldly-wise—
A hostess, speeding her departing guest.
She laid her hand in his, with frank farewell,
And eyes met eyes with smile serene and kind,
When suddenly a clearer vision fell
Across them—and they knew they had been blind.
And eyes met eyes with smile serene and kind,
When suddenly a clearer vision fell
Across them—and they knew they had been blind.
Blind in not seeing how their souls had grown
Dear each to each, all other souls above—
That until now, they had not dreamed or known
The bliss, the pain, the perfectness of love.
Dear each to each, all other souls above—
That until now, they had not dreamed or known
The bliss, the pain, the perfectness of love.
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The whole earth might have passed in fire or flood,
World crashed with world, or systems whirled apart,
And they had not perceived it, as they stood
In that delicious moment, heart to heart.
World crashed with world, or systems whirled apart,
And they had not perceived it, as they stood
In that delicious moment, heart to heart.
Only a moment of supreme surprise,
Delirious joy crushed down by heaviest pain,
And then each conscious soul, too sadly wise,
Took up the burden of its bonds again.
Delirious joy crushed down by heaviest pain,
And then each conscious soul, too sadly wise,
Took up the burden of its bonds again.
How could he hope to hide his new-born woe
Where pleasures whirl and mad ambitions press?
Or in the petty cares which women know,
How could she look for peace or happiness?
Where pleasures whirl and mad ambitions press?
Or in the petty cares which women know,
How could she look for peace or happiness?
Driven as by a flaming sword, he turned,
And in the instant, as he left the place,
Into his wildered brain her image burned,
And all the wordless anguish of her face.
And in the instant, as he left the place,
Into his wildered brain her image burned,
And all the wordless anguish of her face.
Each trifling detail sank into his heart—
Even the last year's vine, which stark and bare,
From its supporting trellis torn apart,
Swung in the winter wind, and touched her hair.
Even the last year's vine, which stark and bare,
From its supporting trellis torn apart,
Swung in the winter wind, and touched her hair.
And she, although she kept her quiet guise,
Nor let the fire upon her hearth grow dim,
Remembered always his despairing eyes,
And knew that all her soul was gone with him.
Nor let the fire upon her hearth grow dim,
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And knew that all her soul was gone with him.
Each held the secret like a hidden crime,
To be concealed and kept from sight of men—
Yet knowing that the world, nor life, nor time
Could ever henceforth be the same again.
To be concealed and kept from sight of men—
Yet knowing that the world, nor life, nor time
Could ever henceforth be the same again.
Years passed before the last and darkest night
Closed round his soul; yet then he saw her there
In the cold splendor of the starry light,
With the dead tendrils garlanding her hair.
Closed round his soul; yet then he saw her there
In the cold splendor of the starry light,
With the dead tendrils garlanding her hair.
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