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

The violet came, and soon the daffodil,
And in the valley by the torrent bed
One morning you might find the drooping head
Of a white narcissus-star above the grass,
Till in a little while you dared not pass
For fear of trampling them, and you would see
The crimson cup of that anemone,
The flower they say that sprang on Calvary,
And when long after Pisan galleys bore
The holy earth to this Italian shore
For all her dead to rest in, hither too
The seed came, and took heart in alien skies and grew.

And yet she went not as her wont had been
To find new flowers at morning, but between
Day-dawn and even bent above her books,
And went her way with over weary looks.
She needs a woman's sympathy, he thought,
Who waited on her least desire, and caught
Each rustling of her dress along the stone
Or faintest footfall far; too much alone
We dwell here—seeing how she clung
To old Annita—for a child so young.

And in a little while it chanced there came
A letter from the North that told the fame
Of Anton's pictures; he had found at last,
They said, the note that failed him, and surpassed
Himself; his rumour was in every mouth—
“And yet,” they said, “you linger in your South,
“But in the springtime you must make amends.”

Then first of all since ever they were friends
One felt a touch of envy, no mere whim,
To watch her as she played at crowning him;
But a vague feeling he could not repress,
A fear he failed her somewhere, for success
Is ever sweet to woman; well he knew
The way to fame was easy for him too
Would he but choose it: but that might not be.
And what of Anton, could he choose but see
Why seemed her praises a reproach to hear?
He dared not look into her eyes for fear
Of reading what he dreaded—and that day
He kept from sight of her, and turned away
When she came near to watch his work, and still
His mind was troubled with a boding ill.

He would have died sooner than not be true
To Adrien; and deep in his heart there grew
A shadow darkening, as he thought, a fear
For the undoing of two lives more dear
Than anything on earth; and it was so
His finer instinct could not choose but know
The meaning of her change.

And it was this
His life had wanted, all he seemed to miss
That human touch, long out of reach, above
His art, was just this very need of Love.
Then all the best that was in him took fire,
Late learning Love, burned into one desire
To help her somehow, as Love longs to give
Its all on earth to one of all that live.
Only for him was nothing left to do
But leave her ere it be too late; he knew
There was no other way that he might choose,
And now seemed nothing left to win or lose
By all his triumphs, now men's praise or blame,
Success or failure were grown much the same.

She was so young, so innocently pure,
He dared persuade himself he was not sure
Of all he feared to picture; but that dread
Mastered his self-control, therefore he said:
“My work is ended now, and I shall go
“North to our land this summer-time,—we grow
“Too straightened here.”

He only heard her say:
“We shall be lonely when you go away.”
But Adrien thought, so best, when Anton goes
She will be less constrained; and when she rose
And came to ask him aught, and laid her hand
Upon his shoulder softly, and would stand
Waiting his answer, with love long deferred,
He pressed it softly, as a little bird
One must be gentle with, and drew her close,
And thought it will be well when Anton goes.

Ah! what a world of things he recked not of
When he mistook her reverence for love.