Part 12

It was in our May, remember; And though now I near November, And abide Till my appointed change, unfretting, Sometimes I sit half regretting That she sighed.

“IN THE NIGHT SHE CAME”

I TOLD her when I left one day That whatsoever weight of care Might strain our love, Time’s mere assault Would work no changes there. And in the night she came to me, Toothless, and wan, and old, With leaden concaves round her eyes, And wrinkles manifold.

I tremblingly exclaimed to her, “O wherefore do you ghost me thus! I have said that dull defacing Time Will bring no dreads to us.” “And is that true of you?” she cried In voice of troubled tune. I faltered: “Well . . . I did not think You would test me quite so soon!”

She vanished with a curious smile, Which told me, plainlier than by word, That my staunch pledge could scarce beguile The fear she had averred. Her doubts then wrought their shape in me, And when next day I paid My due caress, we seemed to be Divided by some shade.

THE CONFORMERS

YES; we’ll wed, my little fay, And you shall write you mine, And in a villa chastely gray We’ll house, and sleep, and dine. But those night-screened, divine, Stolen trysts of heretofore, We of choice ecstasies and fine Shall know no more.

The formal faced cohue Will then no more upbraid With smiting smiles and whisperings two Who have thrown less loves in shade. We shall no more evade The searching light of the sun, Our game of passion will be played, Our dreaming done.

We shall not go in stealth To rendezvous unknown, But friends will ask me of your health, And you about my own. When we abide alone, No leapings each to each, But syllables in frigid tone Of household speech.

When down to dust we glide Men will not say askance, As now: “How all the country side Rings with their mad romance!” But as they graveward glance Remark: “In them we lose A worthy pair, who helped advance Sound parish views.”

THE DAWN AFTER THE DANCE

HERE is your parents’ dwelling with its curtained windows telling Of no thought of us within it or of our arrival here; Their slumbers have been normal after one day more of formal Matrimonial commonplace and household life’s mechanic gear.

I would be candid willingly, but dawn draws on so chillingly As to render further cheerlessness intolerable now, So I will not stand endeavouring to declare a day for severing, But will clasp you just as always—just the olden love avow.

Through serene and surly weather we have walked the ways together, And this long night’s dance this year’s end eve now finishes the spell; Yet we dreamt us but beginning a sweet sempiternal spinning Of a cord we have spun to breaking—too intemperately, too well.

Yes; last night we danced I know, Dear, as we did that year ago, Dear, When a new strange bond between our days was formed, and felt, and heard; Would that dancing were the worst thing from the latest to the first thing That the faded year can charge us with; but what avails a word!

That which makes man’s love the lighter and the woman’s burn no brighter Came to pass with us inevitably while slipped the shortening year . . . And there stands your father’s dwelling with its blind bleak windows telling That the vows of man and maid are frail as filmy gossamere.

WEYMOUTH, 1869.

THE SUN ON THE LETTER

I DREW the letter out, while gleamed The sloping sun from under a roof Of cloud whose verge rose visibly.

The burning ball flung rays that seemed Stretched like a warp without a woof Across the levels of the lea

To where I stood, and where they beamed As brightly on the page of proof That she had shown her false to me

As if it had shown her true—had teemed With passionate thought for my behoof Expressed with their own ardency!

THE NIGHT OF THE DANCE

THE cold moon hangs to the sky by its horn, And centres its gaze on me; The stars, like eyes in reverie, Their westering as for a while forborne, Quiz downward curiously.

Old Robert draws the backbrand in, The green logs steam and spit; The half-awakened sparrows flit From the riddled thatch; and owls begin To whoo from the gable-slit.

Yes; far and nigh things seem to know Sweet scenes are impending here; That all is prepared; that the hour is near For welcomes, fellowships, and flow Of sally, song, and cheer;

That spigots are pulled and viols strung; That soon will arise the sound Of measures trod to tunes renowned; That She will return in Love’s low tongue My vows as we wheel around.

MISCONCEPTION