Part 9

THIS HEART A WOMAN’S DREAM

AT midnight, in the room where he lay dead Whom in his life I had never clearly read, I thought if I could peer into that citadel His heart, I should at last know full and well

What hereto had been known to him alone, Despite our long sit-out of years foreflown, “And if,” I said, “I do this for his memory’s sake, It would not wound him, even if he could wake.”

So I bent over him. He seemed to smile With a calm confidence the whole long while That I, withdrawing his heart, held it and, bit by bit, Perused the unguessed things found written on it.

It was inscribed like a terrestrial sphere With quaint vermiculations close and clear— His graving. Had I known, would I have risked the stroke Its reading brought, and my own heart nigh broke!

Yes, there at last, eyes opened, did I see His whole sincere symmetric history; There were his truth, his simple singlemindedness, Strained, maybe, by time’s storms, but there no less.

There were the daily deeds from sun to sun In blindness, but good faith, that he had done; There were regrets, at instances wherein he swerved (As he conceived) from cherishings I had deserved.

There were old hours all figured down as bliss— Those spent with me—(how little had I thought this!) There those when, at my absence, whether he slept or waked, (Though I knew not ’twas so!) his spirit ached.

There that when we were severed, how day dulled Till time joined us anew, was chronicled: And arguments and battlings in defence of me That heart recorded clearly and ruddily.

I put it back, and left him as he lay While pierced the morning pink and then the gray Into each dreary room and corridor around, Where I shall wait, but his step will not sound.

WHERE THEY LIVED

DISHEVELLED leaves creep down Upon that bank to-day, Some green, some yellow, and some pale brown; The wet bents bob and sway; The once warm slippery turf is sodden Where we laughingly sat or lay.

The summerhouse is gone, Leaving a weedy space; The bushes that veiled it once have grown Gaunt trees that interlace, Through whose lank limbs I see too clearly The nakedness of the place.

And where were hills of blue, Blind drifts of vapour blow, And the names of former dwellers few, If any, people know, And instead of a voice that called, “Come in, Dears,” Time calls, “Pass below!”

THE OCCULTATION

WHEN the cloud shut down on the morning shine, And darkened the sun, I said, “So ended that joy of mine Years back begun.”

But day continued its lustrous roll In upper air; And did my late irradiate soul Live on somewhere?

LIFE LAUGHS ONWARD

RAMBLING I looked for an old abode Where, years back, one had lived I knew; Its site a dwelling duly showed, But it was new.

I went where, not so long ago, The sod had riven two breasts asunder; Daisies throve gaily there, as though No grave were under.

I walked along a terrace where Loud children gambolled in the sun; The figure that had once sat there Was missed by none.

Life laughed and moved on unsubdued, I saw that Old succumbed to Young: ’Twas well. My too regretful mood Died on my tongue.

THE PEACE-OFFERING

IT was but a little thing, Yet I knew it meant to me Ease from what had given a sting To the very birdsinging Latterly.

But I would not welcome it; And for all I then declined O the regrettings infinite When the night-processions flit Through the mind!

“SOMETHING TAPPED”

SOMETHING tapped on the pane of my room When there was never a trace Of wind or rain, and I saw in the gloom My weary Belovéd’s face.

“O I am tired of waiting,” she said, “Night, morn, noon, afternoon; So cold it is in my lonely bed, And I thought you would join me soon!”