 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
78
FORGETFULNESS.
After the long monotonous months, and after
Vague yearnings as of suppliant viewless hands,
The first full note of Spring's aerial laughter
Was wavering o'er the winter-wearied lands.
Vague yearnings as of suppliant viewless hands,
The first full note of Spring's aerial laughter
Was wavering o'er the winter-wearied lands.
All earth seemed rich in sweet emancipations
For all that frost so bitterly enslaves,
And, tended as with unseen ministrations,
The sward grew fresh about the village graves!
For all that frost so bitterly enslaves,
And, tended as with unseen ministrations,
The sward grew fresh about the village graves!
And while I lingered in the halcyon weather
To watch the tranquil churchyard, brightening fast,
My friend and his young wife rode by together,—
Rode by and gave me greeting as they past.
To watch the tranquil churchyard, brightening fast,
My friend and his young wife rode by together,—
Rode by and gave me greeting as they past.
They seemed like lovers with the choicest graces
Of favoring fortune at their love's control,
Yet, as I looked upon their fleeting faces,
A chill of recollection touched my soul!
Of favoring fortune at their love's control,
Yet, as I looked upon their fleeting faces,
A chill of recollection touched my soul!
For only two short Springtides had been numbered
Since here among these graves, it then befell,
A grave was wrought beneath whose slab now slumbered
The woman whom my friend had loved so well!
Since here among these graves, it then befell,
A grave was wrought beneath whose slab now slumbered
The woman whom my friend had loved so well!
A gloom across the brilliant day came stealing,
Whose darkness held the spirit from escape.
I saw my friend within a dim room, kneeling
In haggard anguish by a sheeted shape!
Whose darkness held the spirit from escape.
I saw my friend within a dim room, kneeling
In haggard anguish by a sheeted shape!
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A chilly breeze across the chamber fluttered,
Making the timorous night-light wax and wane,
And wearily on the roof above were uttered
The low persistent requiems of the rain!
Making the timorous night-light wax and wane,
And wearily on the roof above were uttered
The low persistent requiems of the rain!
I thought of his great sobs and mien heart broken,
His moans of agony and his wild-eyed stare,
And how the assuaging words I would have spoken
Died at my lips before his deep despair!
His moans of agony and his wild-eyed stare,
And how the assuaging words I would have spoken
Died at my lips before his deep despair!
“And now,” I thought, “what worth his protestations,
His tears, his pangs and all the grief he gave,
When, tended as with unseen ministrations,
The sward grows green round her forgotten grave?”
His tears, his pangs and all the grief he gave,
When, tended as with unseen ministrations,
The sward grows green round her forgotten grave?”
And yet the brilliant day, divine for tidings
Of cheerful change in all its ample glow,
Touched me with tender yet with potent chidings,
And softly murmured, “It is better so!”
Of cheerful change in all its ample glow,
Touched me with tender yet with potent chidings,
And softly murmured, “It is better so!”
“Ah, yes,” I mused, “immeasurably better
To win suave healing from the fluctuant years;
To snap the bond of grief's tyrannic fetter;
To let new hopes arch rainbows among tears!”
To win suave healing from the fluctuant years;
To snap the bond of grief's tyrannic fetter;
To let new hopes arch rainbows among tears!”
And now it seemed that Spring, the elate new-comer,
Laughed out: “Oh, better all regret were brief!
Better the opulence of another summer
Than last year's empty nest and shrivelled leaf!”
Laughed out: “Oh, better all regret were brief!
Better the opulence of another summer
Than last year's empty nest and shrivelled leaf!”
“Yes, better!” I made mute reiterations,
But turned sad eyes to one green turfy wave,
Where, tended as with unseen ministrations,
The sward grew fresh round that forgotten grave!
But turned sad eyes to one green turfy wave,
Where, tended as with unseen ministrations,
The sward grew fresh round that forgotten grave!
80
Oh, sweet it is when hope's white arms are wreathing
Necks bowed with sorrow, as they droop forlorn!
But ah! the imperishable pathos breathing
About those dead whom we no longer mourn!
Necks bowed with sorrow, as they droop forlorn!
But ah! the imperishable pathos breathing
About those dead whom we no longer mourn!
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