 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
THE TWO SHADOWS
It was an evening calm and fair
As ever drank the dews of June;
The living earth, the breathless air
Slept by the shining moon.
As ever drank the dews of June;
The living earth, the breathless air
Slept by the shining moon.
There was a rudely woven seat
That lay beneath a garden wall,—
I heard two voices low and sweet,
I saw two shadows fall.
That lay beneath a garden wall,—
I heard two voices low and sweet,
I saw two shadows fall.
Two shadows—side by side they were,
With but a line of light between;
If shapes more real lingered there,
Those shapes were all unseen.
With but a line of light between;
If shapes more real lingered there,
Those shapes were all unseen.
The voice which seemed of deepest tone
Breathed something which I scarcely heard;
And there was silence, save alone
One faintly whispered word.
Breathed something which I scarcely heard;
And there was silence, save alone
One faintly whispered word.
And then the longer shadow drew
Nearer and nearer, till it came
So close, that one might think the two
Were melting to the same.
Nearer and nearer, till it came
So close, that one might think the two
Were melting to the same.
I heard a sound that lovers know—
A sound from lips that do not speak;
But oh! it leaves a deeper glow
Than words upon the cheek.
A sound from lips that do not speak;
But oh! it leaves a deeper glow
Than words upon the cheek.
Dear maiden, hast thou ever known
That sound which sets the soul on fire?
And is it not the sweetest tone
Wrung from earth's shattered lyre?
That sound which sets the soul on fire?
And is it not the sweetest tone
Wrung from earth's shattered lyre?
Alas! upon my boyish brow,
Fair lips have often more than smiled;
And there is none to press it now,
I am no more a child.
Fair lips have often more than smiled;
And there is none to press it now,
I am no more a child.
Long, long the blended shadows lay
As they were in a viewless fold;
And will they never break away,
So loving, yet so cold!
As they were in a viewless fold;
And will they never break away,
So loving, yet so cold!
They say that spirits walk the vale,
But that I do not truly know—
I wonder when I told the tale,
Why Fanny crimsoned so!
But that I do not truly know—
I wonder when I told the tale,
Why Fanny crimsoned so!
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |