Classic Poem

H UGO sitting alone. Evening . Hugo:

And now the parting is over,
 The parting should end the pain;
And the restless heart may recover,
 And so may the troubled brain.
I am sitting within the chamber
 Whose windows look on the porch,
Where the roses cluster and clamber;
 We halted here on our march
With her to the convent going,
 And now I go back alone:
Ye roses, budding and blowing,
 Ye heed not though she is flown.
I remember the girlish gesture,
 The sportive and childlike grace,
With which she crumpled and pressed your
 Rose leaves to her rose-hued face.
Shall I think on her ways hereafter—
 On those flashes of mirth and grief,
On that April of tears and laughter,
 On our parting, bitterly brief?

I remember the bell at sunrise,
 That sounded so solemnly,
Bidding monk, and prelate, and nun rise;
 I rose ere the sun was high.
Down the long, dark, dismal passage,
 To the door of her resting-place
I went, on a farewell message,
 I trod with a stealthy pace.
There was no one there to see us
 When she opened her chamber door.
“Miserere mei, Deus,”
 Rang faint from the convent choir.

I remember the dark and narrow
 And scantily furnished room;
And the gleam, like a golden arrow—
 The gleam that lighted the gloom.
One couch, one seat, and one table,
 One window, and only one—
It stands in the eastern gable,
 It faces the rising sun.
One ray shot through it, and one light
 On doorway and threshold played;
She stood within in the sunlight,
 I stood without in the shade.

I remember that bright form under
 The sheen of that slanting ray.
I spoke—“For life we must sunder,
 Let us sunder without delay.
Let us sever without preamble,
 As brother and sister part,
For the sake of one pleasant ramble,
 That will live in at least one heart.”
Still the choir in my ears rang faintly,
 In the distance dying away,
Sweetly and sadly and saintly,
 Through arch and corridor grey!

And thus we parted for ever,
 Between the shade and the shine;
Not as brother and sister sever—
 I fondled her hands in mine.
Still the choir in my ears rang deaden'd
 And dull'd, though audible yet;
And she redden'd, and paled, and redden'd—
 Her lashes and lids grew wet.
Not as brother severs from sister,
 My lips clung fast to her lips;
She shivered and shrank when I kissed her.
 On the sunbeam dropped the eclipse.

I remember little of the parting
 With the Abbot, down by the gate.
My men were eager for starting;
 I think he pressed me to wait.
From the lands where convent and glebe lie,
 From manors, and Church's right,
Where I fought temptation so feebly,
 I, too, felt eager for flight.

Alas! the parting is over:
 The parting, but not the pain—
Oh! sweet was the purple clover,
 And sweet was the yellow grain;
And sweet were the woody hollows
 On the summery Rhineward track;
But a winter untimely swallows
 All sweets as I travel back.

Yet I feel assured, in some fashion,
 Ere the hedges are crisp with rime,
I shall conquer this senseless passion,
 'Twill yield to toil and to time.
I will fetter these fancies roaming;
 Already the sun has dipp'd;
I will trim the lamps in the gloaming,
 I will finish my manuscript.
Through the nightwatch unflagging study
 Shall banish regrets perforce;
As soon as the east is ruddy
 Our bugle shall sound “To Horse!”