Feda with Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

And they are sitting in the olden place,
Under the gnarlèd olive tree; her face
Is even graver than its wont, her eyes
Are wet and wistful, and the fierce thoughts rise
As Adrien listened to the tale she told

“For we shall never meet here as of old,
She said; “I wonder shall we any more

“But I must live my days out on this shore,
“Through many a weary year. It must be so,
“For I have nowhere in the world to go,
“Being a woman and so young, dear friend
“I knew that soon these better days would end,
“And if a little sooner, well, the loss
“Is mine. Someday, somewhere, our ways may cross,
“When I am free, who knows? and I shall spring
“To greet you, and, may be, you'll bid me sing
“The songs of the old, pleasant noons we spent.

“It was his birthday; the first day I went,
“And we were used to be so merry then,
“In the old home up North, and therefore when
“His day came round, the first he was not by—
“I had no heart to tell the abbess why—
“Only I wanted to be all alone,
“And keep my day of memories for my own.
“And on that morn the abbess bade me stay,
“Too long already I had had my way,
“And Sister Agnes waited me to read;
“And then I answered that I had no need
“For Sister Agnes; that his books I brought

“Were all I cared to read in; that I thought
“I wanted none to read with me; and then
“The tears came when I thought on him again.

“But this it was that angered her, she said
“Better was prayer than weeping for my dead—
“Since sorrow brings no loved one back again—
“That God might sooner ease him of the pain
“They doom their dead to—I should feel it best
“To bring him nearer to the perfect rest.

“And then I answered, but if God were good,
“I knew there were no pains for him who stood
“Above their blame or censure. Oh, my friend,
“I see no hope for any prayer to mend
“The earthly sorrow; when our hearts are set
“In throbbing blood, to bid us not regret!
“There was one voice on earth, to us was sweet;
“What shall atone for silence,—shall we meet
“Among the myriads in the unknown land?
“We miss the pressure of a parted hand—
“Shall that console us, can we quite forego
“The only life we yet have learned to know,

“Resign so wholly the near need of love
“For stranger glories that we know not of?
“And do they think, if any love or prayer
“Could bring me nearer, I should leave him there?

“But she was angered, meaning to be kind,
“She said I had strange fancies in my mind,
“And wild rebellious instincts; it were best
“These wayward impulses should be repressed;
“And so she bade me lay my whole soul bare
“At next confession, when the priest comes there.
“And they have taken all his books away,
“As full of dangerous doctrines; and they say
“I may not wander as I used to do,
“Alone, among the mountains. Is it true
“That any here could harm me? Oh! my friend,
“Our pleasant readings in the wood must end,
“And it were idle to rebel in vain.

“So I was patient, that just once again
“I might steal out alone, and find you here,
“And tell you from my heart how very dear

“These days were, when we read his books and talked
“Of the great lives who made them, when we walked
“The perfect way of that enchanted land
“That is where two souls meet and understand.
“Now all is over, over;—I must turn
“Back to the melancholy life, and learn
“To wait in patience and forbear, for so
“He would have had me always, and I know
“There is no other way; and now, farewell.
“But thank you ever, as no word can tell;
“And you must think of me sometimes, when far,
“As of a bird that beats against the bar,
“And knows that in the world outside is spring,
“And wants to fly into the clouds and sing.”

Then she was rising silently, and this
Was all his answer, with her hand in his
He stayed her rising, and she saw him kneel
Beside her and above, and she could feel
His breath upon her hair, his arm that curled
About her, as to shield her from the world,
His soul surrounding and upholding her:

In all the woods there was no faintest stir;
And then the long-restrained, strong manhood broke
Into the fire and eloquence of love; he spoke
Of hope renewed, and promise and release,
And golden days of gladness, and great peace,
Of fair fulfilment of all high desires
In God's great gift, the love that never tires;
Of sweet forgetting after many tears,
And long accord of kindred hearts, the years,
Young years to love in,—till his very soul
Rushed through his lips, unfettered of control,
And trembled into whispering—“Will you come?”

And all the while she listened scared and dumb.

At last she rose erect before him there,
And nerved as one whose lips appeal to prayer
To speak out truth, so in despite of dread
She looked into his eyes and calmly said:
“Yes, I will go with you and be your wife,
“And learn what I have longed for all my life;
“I say not that I love, I have not known—
“I that have lived my quiet life alone—

“What love may mean, but only I am glad
“When I am with you,—I that was so sad.

And she put out her little hand to his,
So their lips grew together in one kiss;
He wondered then how all his days were spent
Ere love made known his crowning sacrament.
Then hand in hand as lovers use they went,
Glad and half-fearful through the darkening wood,
Till by the free waves on the shore they stood.
He lifted her in his strong arms to bear
Her arms about his neck, and all her hair
Falling about his forehead, and her breast
That beat and trembled on his heart at rest;
While round and round late seagulls whirled and flew,—
This was the fairest eve that ever Adrien knew.

It is late even, all the hills are dim,
And she has gone over the sea with him;
The light wind blew, the little bark sped fast,
The wide waves roll between her and the past.