One Day & Another Part 8

Have I not told to her--living alone for her-- Purposed unfoldments of deeds I had sown for her Here in the soil of my soul? their variety Endless--and ever she answered with piety.

See! it has come to this--all the tale's suavity At the ninth chapter grows wretched to gravity; Cruel as death all our beautiful history-- Close it!--the finis is more than a mystery.-- Yes, I will go to her; yes, I will speak.

7

_After the last meeting; the day following._

I seem to see her still; to see That dim blue room. Her perfume comes From lavender folds draped dreamily-- One blossom of brocaded blooms-- Some stuff of orient looms.

I seem to hear her speak; and back Where lies the sun on books and piles Of porcelain and bric-a-brac, A tall clock ticks above the tiles, Where Love's framed profile smiles.

I hear her say, "Ah, had I known!-- I suffer too for what has been-- For what must be."--A wild ache shone In her sad eyes that seemed to lean On something far, unseen.

And as in sleep my own self seems Outside my suffering self.--I flush 'Twixt facts and undetermined dreams, And wait as silent as that hush Of lilac light and plush.

Smiling, but suffering, I feel, Beneath that face, so sweet and sad, In those pale temples, thoughts like steel Pierce burningly.--I had gone mad Had I once deemed her glad.--

Unconsciously, with eyes that yearn To look beyond the present far For some faint future hope, I turn-- Above her garden, day's fierce star, Vermilion at the window bar,

Sank sullenly--like love's own sun-- An omen of our future life.-- And then the memory of one Rich day she'd said she'd be my wife Set heart and brain at strife.

Again amid the heavy hues, Soft crimson, seal, and satiny gold Of flowers there, I stood 'mid dews With her; deep in her garden old, While sunset fires uprolled.

And now.... It can not be! and yet To feel 'tis so!--In heart and brain To know 'tis so!--while warm and wet I seem to smell those scents again, Verbena-scents and rain.

I turn, in hope she'll bid me stay.

Again her cameo beauty mark Set in that smile.--She turns away.

No word of love! not even a spark Of hope to cheer the dark!

That sepia sketch--conceive it so-- A jaunty head with mouth and eyes Tragic beneath a rose-chapeau, Silk-masked, unmasking--it denies The look we half surmise,

We know is there. 'Tis thus we read The true beneath the false; perceive The smile that hides the ache.--Indeed!

Whose soul unmasks?... Not mine!--I grieve,-- Oh G.o.d!--but laugh and leave....

8

_He walks aimlessly on._

Beyond those twisted apple-trees, That partly hide the old brick-barn, Its tattered arms and tattered knees A scare-crow tosses to the breeze Among the shocks of corn.

My heart is gray as is the day, In which the rain-wind drearily Makes all the sounding branches sway, And in the hollows far away The dry leaves rustle wearily.

And soon we'll hear the far wild-geese Honk in frost-bitten heavens under Arcturus; when my walks must cease, And by the fireside's log-heaped peace I'll sit and nod and ponder.--

When every fall of this loud creek Is architectured ice; and hinted Brown acres of yon corn stretch bleak, White-sculptured with the snows, that streak The hillsides bitter-tinted,

I'll sit and dream of that glad morn We went down ways where blooms were blowing; That dusk we strolled through flower and thorn, By ta.s.seled meads of cane and corn, To where the stream was flowing.

Again I'll oar our boat among The lily-pads that dot the river; And reach her hat the grape-vine long Strikes in the stream; we'll sing that song, And then.... I'll wake and shiver.

Why is it that my mind reverts To that sweet past? while full of parting The present is; so full of hurts And heartache, that what it a.s.serts Adds only to the smarting.

How often shall I sit and think Of that sweet past! through lowered lashes What-might-have-been trace link by link; Then watch it gradually sink And crumble into ashes.

Outside I'll hear the sad wind weep Like some lone spirit, grieved, forsaken; Then shuddering to bed shall creep And lie awake, or haply sleep A sleep by visions shaken.

Dreams of the past that paint and draw The present in a hue that's wanting; A scare-crow thing of sticks and straw,-- Like that just now I, pa.s.sing, saw,-- Its empty tatters flaunting.

9

_He compares the present day with a past one._

The sun a splintered splendor was In trees, whose waving branches blurred Its disc, that day we went together, 'Mid wild-bee hum and whirring buzz Of insects, through the fields that purred With Summer in the perfect weather.

So sweet it was to look and lean To her young face and feel the light Of eyes that met my own unsaddened!

Her laugh, that left lips more serene; Her speech, that blossomed like the white Life-everlasting there and gladdened.

Maturing Summer! you were fraught With more of beauty then than now Parades the pageant of September: Where what-is-now contrasts in thought With what-was-once, that bloom and bough Can only help me to remember.

10

_He pauses before a deserted house by the roadside._

Through iron-weeds and roses And ancient beech and oak, Old porches it discloses Above the weeds and roses, The drizzling raindrops soak.

Neglected walks a-tangle With dodder-strangled gra.s.s; And every mildewed angle Heaped with dead leaves that spangle The paths that round it pa.s.s.

The creatures there that bury And hide within its rooms, And spidered closets--very Dim with gray webs--will hurry Out when the twilight glooms.

Owls roost in room and bas.e.m.e.nt; Bats haunt its hearth and porch, And through some paneless cas.e.m.e.nt Flit, in the moon's enlacement, Or firefly's twinkling torch.

There is a sense of frost here, And gusts that sigh away.-- What was it that was lost here?

Long, long ago was lost here?-- Can anybody say?

My foot perhaps would startle Some bird that mopes within; Some owl above its portal, That stares upon the mortal As on a thing of sin.

The rutty road winds by it This side the dusty toll.-- Why do I stop to eye it?

My heart can not deny it-- The house is like my soul.

11

_He proceeds on his way._

I bear a burden--look not therein!

Naught will you find but sorrow and sin; Sorrow and sin that wend with me Wherever I go. And misery, A gaunt companion, a wretched bride, Goes always with me, side by side.