Part 11

O vision appalling When the one believed-in thing Is seen falling, falling, With all to which hope can cling. Off: it is not true; For it cannot be That the prize I drew Is a blank to me!

WEYMOUTH, 1869.

FOUR FOOTPRINTS

HERE are the tracks upon the sand Where stood last evening she and I— Pressed heart to heart and hand to hand; The morning sun has baked them dry.

I kissed her wet face—wet with rain, For arid grief had burnt up tears, While reached us as in sleeping pain The distant gurgling of the weirs.

“I have married him—yes; feel that ring; ’Tis a week ago that he put it on . . . A dutiful daughter does this thing, And resignation succeeds anon!

“But that I body and soul was yours Ere he’d possession, he’ll never know. He’s a confident man. ‘The husband scores,’ He says, ‘in the long run’ . . . Now, Dear, go!”

I went. And to-day I pass the spot; It is only a smart the more to endure; And she whom I held is as though she were not, For they have resumed their honeymoon tour.

IN THE VAULTED WAY

IN the vaulted way, where the passage turned To the shadowy corner that none could see, You paused for our parting,—plaintively; Though overnight had come words that burned My fond frail happiness out of me.

And then I kissed you,—despite my thought That our spell must end when reflection came On what you had deemed me, whose one long aim Had been to serve you; that what I sought Lay not in a heart that could breathe such blame.

But yet I kissed you; whereon you again As of old kissed me. Why, why was it so? Do you cleave to me after that light-tongued blow? If you scorned me at eventide, how love then? The thing is dark, Dear. I do not know.

IN THE MIND’S EYE

THAT was once her casement, And the taper nigh, Shining from within there, Beckoned, “Here am I!”

Now, as then, I see her Moving at the pane; Ah; ’tis but her phantom Borne within my brain!—

Foremost in my vision Everywhere goes she; Change dissolves the landscapes, She abides with me.

Shape so sweet and shy, Dear, Who can say thee nay? Never once do I, Dear, Wish thy ghost away.

THE END OF THE EPISODE

INDULGE no more may we In this sweet-bitter pastime: The love-light shines the last time Between you, Dear, and me.

There shall remain no trace Of what so closely tied us, And blank as ere love eyed us Will be our meeting-place.

The flowers and thymy air, Will they now miss our coming? The dumbles thin their humming To find we haunt not there?

Though fervent was our vow, Though ruddily ran our pleasure, Bliss has fulfilled its measure, And sees its sentence now.

Ache deep; but make no moans: Smile out; but stilly suffer: The paths of love are rougher Than thoroughfares of stones.

THE SIGH

LITTLE head against my shoulder, Shy at first, then somewhat bolder, And up-eyed; Till she, with a timid quaver, Yielded to the kiss I gave her; But, she sighed.

That there mingled with her feeling Some sad thought she was concealing It implied. —Not that she had ceased to love me, None on earth she set above me; But she sighed.

She could not disguise a passion, Dread, or doubt, in weakest fashion If she tried: Nothing seemed to hold us sundered, Hearts were victors; so I wondered Why she sighed.

Afterwards I knew her throughly, And she loved me staunchly, truly, Till she died; But she never made confession Why, at that first sweet concession, She had sighed.