Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems By the Lady E. Stuart Wortley. In Three Vols |
 | I, II, III. |
 |
|
THE FATAL TRUTH. |
 | Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems |  |
THE FATAL TRUTH.
I never think of thee without
A shudder and a sigh;
My dearest Hope is grown a doubt—
Ah! canst thou ask me why?
A shudder and a sigh;
My dearest Hope is grown a doubt—
Ah! canst thou ask me why?
I say not thou hast been unkind,
Nor charge thee with neglect;
But, oh! in thee—an altered mind
I sorrowingly detect!
Nor charge thee with neglect;
But, oh! in thee—an altered mind
I sorrowingly detect!
263
The shadow o'er my soul hath crossed,—
I know, I feel my fate;
Thy love—thy treasured love is lost,
And I am desolate!
I know, I feel my fate;
Thy love—thy treasured love is lost,
And I am desolate!
Thou hast not breathed a word of change,
But that there needeth not;
The heart with conscious tremblings strange,
Too soon divines its lot!
But that there needeth not;
The heart with conscious tremblings strange,
Too soon divines its lot!
I well believe thou dost not know
Thyself, Oh!—more than dear!
That fatal truth which for my woe,
To me shines strong and clear.
Thyself, Oh!—more than dear!
That fatal truth which for my woe,
To me shines strong and clear.
I well believe—thou art not yet
Thyself, beloved!—aware—
Of all that bids my life's sun set—
In darkness and despair!
Thyself, beloved!—aware—
Of all that bids my life's sun set—
In darkness and despair!
264
But, oh! no doubt remains for me—
My day of Hope is done!
I know there must be change in thee—
Since all my peace is gone!—
My day of Hope is done!
I know there must be change in thee—
Since all my peace is gone!—
Changed words, changed tones, and, oh! changed looks—
To me the truth reveal;
Harsh Certainty my soul rebukes—
For Hopes it fain would feel!—
To me the truth reveal;
Harsh Certainty my soul rebukes—
For Hopes it fain would feel!—
I chide thee not—I blame thee not—
I bless—I bless thee still!—
Were I forsaken, scorned, forgot,
How could I wish thee ill?
I bless—I bless thee still!—
Were I forsaken, scorned, forgot,
How could I wish thee ill?
My withering heart, my wasting life
Shall fail—shall fade—and length
Of Grief and Fear, the deadly strife,
Even now lays low my strength!—
Shall fail—shall fade—and length
Of Grief and Fear, the deadly strife,
Even now lays low my strength!—
265
Yet well and certainly I know,
As through the impassioned past,
My soul, through all the Future's woe,
Shall love on to the last!
As through the impassioned past,
My soul, through all the Future's woe,
Shall love on to the last!
The bright stream scorched in summer's hours,
Beneath the burning sky—
Slow winding through the parched-up bowers,
Dewless themselves and dry!—
Beneath the burning sky—
Slow winding through the parched-up bowers,
Dewless themselves and dry!—
Resenteth not its ruin—no!
Still brightly to the last,
In its impaired and languid flow,
That Heaven thereon is glassed!
Still brightly to the last,
In its impaired and languid flow,
That Heaven thereon is glassed!
How, as it shrinketh fast beneath
The unpitying sky's hot glare;
That wastes it with a lingering death—
That sky shines mirrored there!
The unpitying sky's hot glare;
That wastes it with a lingering death—
That sky shines mirrored there!
266
Unto the last those hues it wears—
Upon its faithful breast!—
That shrunk tide—trembling into tears—
In sunshine's smiles is dressed.
Upon its faithful breast!—
That shrunk tide—trembling into tears—
In sunshine's smiles is dressed.
The heavens, unfaded, still are glassed,
By that faint, fading stream—
Its pride might seem, unto the last,
To wrong not one bright beam!—
By that faint, fading stream—
Its pride might seem, unto the last,
To wrong not one bright beam!—
But still to pour these back as bright,
In its expiring hour—
As when it rolled in laughing light—
In triumph and in power!—
In its expiring hour—
As when it rolled in laughing light—
In triumph and in power!—
Back it reflects that burning blaze,
Which must its life-springs waste;—
Though death, though ruin's in that gaze—
It gazes—to the last!
Which must its life-springs waste;—
Though death, though ruin's in that gaze—
It gazes—to the last!
267
And to the last wears every hue
That brightens o'er the sky;
Till when you miss the quivering blue,
You know the channel's dry!
That brightens o'er the sky;
Till when you miss the quivering blue,
You know the channel's dry!
So to the last—like that scorched stream—
The parching skies beneath—
Shall I be wrapp'd in one sweet dream,
That knows no change but death!
The parching skies beneath—
Shall I be wrapp'd in one sweet dream,
That knows no change but death!
So like that stream, unto the last
Shall I to that reply—
Which is—as 'twas, still in the past—
My sunshine and my sky!
Shall I to that reply—
Which is—as 'twas, still in the past—
My sunshine and my sky!
| Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems | |