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

That last faint hope we never dare let go,
When all the while we cannot choose but know
The golden thread is breaking, and cling fast,
To sink the deeper when it yields at last.

For now there was not any longer place
For hope, or chance of change; time might efface
Or kill, but could not alter; once, he knew,
Love dawns, once only to be pure and true;
And he had girt this young life round with dreams,
And she had grown to him as one who seems
Out of earth's reach to tarnish, shrined above
With the high things he had held worthy love
To live and die for; he had set her there
In his heart's heart, and kept that image fair
From chance and changing things, like some white star,
Serene, far over where the storm-clouds are,
To consecrate all labours, and to make
His every effort holier for her sake;
And he had seemed so near to winning this,
This too great gladness, that such love was his
To be a glory on the path he trod,
To rest about him as the breath of God.

They might outlive this,—might, long years away,
Grow somewhat nearer in an after day;
But that young life, with all its noon unspent,
To droop at morning! He had been content
To bear his lot in silence, for man's best
In pain is perfected, and little rest
From the long struggle comes to any man
The way he journeys since his years began.
But this young life,—he could not set it free;
Man binds and love rebels, and he must see,
Day after day, the love she could not hide,
Not his, another's, fettered to his side.
There is some sorrow that defies control,
The bitterness of death was on his soul,—
And a long while he stared across the sea,
And thought, and thought, If I could set her free!

He had not marked a small dark cloud that rose
Over the sea-line eastward, how it grows,
And veils the stars, and overshades the light
Of that round moon, how sultry lies the night
On the unrippled waters—heavily,
Great drops fall plashing on the darkened sea.

He stole into the chamber where she slept,
And sorrow overflowed, quite close he crept
And watched her sleep; she dreamed and never knew
How wild without the storm of summer grew.
He closed the casement, for the rain fell cold,
And ever and again the thunder rolled,
From crag to answering echo, long and loud—
Flashed down the sky from jaggèd cloud to cloud
God's anger written in the writhing flame!
And yet she wakened not, he breathed her name,
But she was dreaming, and no answer came.
So a long hour he lingered at her side
Lest she should waken, till the echoes died
Beyond the hills, and through the window bars
Shone out once more the cloudless maze of stars;
And all the memories of days gone by
Came one by one, old hopes that once were high,
And the glad days that they had spent together
When first he found love in the summer weather,
And love had brought him hither to this last.
Slowly and silently the hours passed;
And ever and again this thought would grow—

“But now, if I should chance upon them so,
“That hand of his that once I trusted there
“Upon my golden, my own golden hair,
“And all her spirit laughing up to his
“Through those great eyes of her, ah, God! and this
“My friend, my more than brother, and this—but no,
“The very thought were treason—sweet, not so,
“For very loyal are they both to me,
“God knows and love knows that could never be!
“Oh little lonely life I tried to fold
“Into my arms to keep, you only told
“Your love to God, in that white prayer you prayed.”
No taint of self was in his thoughts, no shade
Of least reproach, once more he learned, the price
Of Love on earth is weighed in sacrifice.

And slowly, silently the night went by,
His heart was breaking, and he could not die.
Then he knelt down, and prayed, as one, indeed,
Scarce knowing what he prayed for, only the need
And craving of spirit to communicate
With strength, and light, and what is more than fate,
To ease this deadly chillness of despair,

And as he looked out on the twilight air
The slow dawn grew in answer to his prayer.
And then he turned and looked on her again,
So calm in sleep, so guiltless of his pain,
Sleep lay so sweetly on her, as a child
That dreaming smiles, so in her dream she smiled.
The fair young neck lay bare, all round her head
The golden ripple of her hair was shed,
And one white hand was on her heart at rest,
And rose with every beating of her breast.
The finger was unclasped whereon was set
His opal ring he gave when first they met;
Only he thought the stone had lost its hue,
And gently kneeling at her side he drew
The golden circle from her hand, and yet
She did not wake,

The stars were well-nigh set,
And the still dawn grew paler; then he rose
And went and dressed in the rough seaman's clothes.
The fisher's sash that he had worn that day
When first he anchored in the lonely bay
And found her singing in the olive wood.
Once more he came, and at her side he stood,

And gazed and gazed, as though he strove to trace
In his heart's heart the image of that face
For ever and for ever,—then bent low,
And yet a moment watching, lingered so;
In maiden sleep so very pure and fair,
He pressed one kiss upon her tangled hair,
And turned and went, and never looked behind.

If one had seen him then unmoved, resigned;
He seemed as they whose peace is made
With days and years, who wait till the last shade
Clouds o'er the eyes.—Death in the heart may be,
But love had found its own eternity.

Then he went down into the little bay,
By the old path, and it was early day,
And the long grass was silvered with the dew,
And the birds sang as ever. But he drew
The old boat shorewards—wind enough to fill
The painted sail—and, from the shadowy hill,
He passed beyond into the gold sun's track,
Southward and Southward, and not once looked back.

And when the sun was well above the tower
Féda awoke; the passing thunder shower

Had cleared the heavy air, and the new day
Breathed sweet and fresh about her as she lay.
The song of birds made gladness in the air,
And God, she thought, has surely heard my prayer,
For youth's deep sleep had eased her weariness.

Lighter of heart she rose, and chose the dress
He praised her in, and braided up her hair
For his sake, and was glad that she was fair.
Now she had conquered—he should never know.

But by the window in the hall below,
Alone stood Anton, waiting; and his head
Was bent above a written page he read;
And she looked up in that pale face of his
For greeting;
Then she saw the lines he read
Were Adrien's writing, and no word was said.

“To Anton and to Féda one short word,
“And then let me keep silence! God has heard
“One prayer of yesternight. To you, old friend,
“She comes, a child yet, yours till these days end,
“Else had not this been possible. Your tears

“Will keep my memory green a few short years,
“The rest have long forgotten;—all is said,
“You had one friend once, Anton: he is dead.
“And you, my love, and, ever my love, although
“Our ways in life divide hence, and I go.
“Love him for ever, only; and be ye
“Too rich in joy to waste one thought on me!
“For now, because when the old hope was sweet,
“The waters used to bear me to your feet.
“I turn again to the old kindly sea,
“And my own love will be enough for me.
“The time is very short to death from birth,
“And I have much to do in the wide earth,
“Whom now the silence covers. Let the dead
“Sleep on! Love well! Be happy! All is said
“In this, that you will see my face no more
“In any way of any sea or shore.”

Three times she read it wholly through and through
And could not speak to question, and she knew
The eyes that watched were brimming with hot tears,
And tremblingly she stood, as one who hears
His doom of death, and is half glad to die.

By this the sun was high in the pale sky,
And from its place in the dark bay below
The boat was gone, and ah, how long ago!
But the birds sang as alway, and the foam
Splashed up against the red rocks of their home,
And the sunflowers waved in the light breeze.

Then suddenly as one who watching sees
The last faint smile upon a dying face
Before death closes o'er, a moment's space
They saw through tear-dimmed eyes that strained away,
How, in the golden promise of the day,
A small white sail was fading in the South.

Then Anton stooped and kissed her on the mouth.