Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Let me not meet thee in the crowd again!
'Twas too much blighting bitterness of pain,
Absence in Presence—it but seemed to be
A doubt—a torture and a mockery.

205

It was not meeting—it was parting, more
Than ever we were parted sure before!—
Our very souls seemed e'en as strangers then:
Let me not meet thee in the throng again!

Few words and distant—guarded looks and brief—
Cold courtesies and forms—oh! killing grief!
Fly me for ever, rather than dwell thus
Beside me, with a world dividing us!

Each look of thine, so guarded and so cold,
Pierced like a bolt of ice through my heart's fold;
And yet had I as coldly to return
Those chilling looks, and all their calmness learn!

Let us not meet in crowded halls again—
The howling wilderness, the savage glen,
The desert shore, with stormy skies above,
Were happier trysting-place for those who love.

206

I would not meet thee in the crowd, Love! more,—
Where the heart aches with the unimparted store
Of hoarded feelings, and affections deep:
Yes, the heart aches—but dares the eye to weep?

All is constrained and artificial there:
I tremble lest the very soul should share
The coldness which disguises all it feels,
And crush the emotion it so well conceals!

Not for mine own—not for mine own Soul—No!
Else it had suffered not such torturing woe—
Else had it been content to meet thee thus—
Meeting, miscalled—a world dividing us!

Yes! by the world were we divided there!
By its congealing breath, and bold bleak stare—
Its heartless sneer, and artificial tone—
We were together—lonelier than alone!

207

We were together—but how far apart!
There might be no glad bound of heart to heart—
No flow of thought to thought—alas! alas!
Absence in Presence!—dull and dreary, 'twas!

Those who are meeting in the silent grave
As fair a meeting, and as joyous have—
And could we darkly be together there,
Such meeting were as happy and as fair.

Happier! thrice happier!—there the conscious care,
The sense of suffering—feeling of despair—
At least were spared, and the poor heart set free,
Were cold as it must here appear to be.

Let me not meet thee in the crowd again—
'Tis too much fearful and o'erpowering pain—
Our very souls seem then as strangers grown,
Our hearts' best feelings are not then our own.

208

'Tis misery thus to hide the gush and glow
Of thoughts and feelings, checked in their deep flow;
Misery to shroud, e'en from the most beloved,
The soul's emotions—with a mien unmoved!—

But would I that the vain and careless crowd
Should for one moment pry beneath that shroud?
From such a thought, with loathing dread, I start;
The hand of Death could scarce more chill my heart.

How from the withering gaze—the inhuman stare—
That heart, if for one moment's space laid bare—
Would shrink, as waters from some open urn,
When summer suns with scorching fury burn.

'Twere death to each deep thought, each feeling pure,
That, that were more, Love! than I could endure,
Compared with that, less torturing is the smart
Of forced constraint and coldness to the heart.

209

Better the studied speech—the guarded look—
Absence in Presence! better can I brook
Your lingering torments, and your lengthening pains—
For love still lives, though fear his power enchains.

But love itself would perish fast beneath
The blasting of the world's cold common breath
If once 'twas to the common view exposed,
To that world's petrifying gaze disclosed!

Love, love itself would wane and perish then,
'Twould fade beneath the rude cold gaze of men;
And, oh! that loss, than loss of life were worse:
To me 'tis Light,—Truth,—and the Universe!

Let me not meet thee in the crowd again!—
It is too much of trial and of pain—
'Tis doubt and torture, mockery and despair:
Let us not meet, not meet again, Love, there!

210

Better, far better in the grave to meet;
Not there, at least, were we constrained to greet
In coldness—nor to assume indifference then:—
I must not meet thee in the crowd again!