Le Cahier Jaune :: :: University of Virginia Library

What, must I leave the banquet and the laughter,
Oh thou pale visitant that criest low?
Wilt thou be ever thus? Far hence, hereafter,
Oh art thou other than the thing I know?

As one that listens from his window leaning,
When night's slow curtain shuts the glen from view,
Now with a thrill of sweetness overweening,
Now with a shudder at what may be true,

Hears many times, but ever doubts in hearing,
Borne by the shifting breeze now loud, now low,
Too faint for hope and too distinct for fearing,
The distant measured footfall come and go.

Fear, silent fear, I deemed that thou hadst left me;
Why dost thou dog my shrinking path again?
Lo of what manliness thou hast bereft me!
Where is the fortitude that comes of pain?

Why dost thou whisper, Love's a merry madness,
Friendship's the easy brotherhood of youth?
I would not wilfully abide in sadness,
Save that I fear thou whisperest but the truth.

Nay, but I answer: if indeed thou callest,
Grant me a respite while I plead with thee,
Small was my joy: I thank thee for the smallest!
Come when thou willest and be one with me.

Lo, I am free! I choose the pain thou bearest:
Thou art the messenger of One who waits;
Thou wilt reveal the hidden face thou wearest,
When my feet falter at the Eternal Gates.

Skye, 1892.