Classic Poem

Oh, the rich high harvest night,
When I kissed and called her mine,
When the barn was lined with light
And all flowers of bloomy twine.
Twanged the viol, and she came
In the middle of the floor,
And her light steps flew like flame
Which the west wind bloweth o'er.
Vain the bow that flashed so fleet,
Vain the twittering notes it tried,
To the music of her feet
Sure the fiddle swooned and died.
I drew near:
And each naked foot that fell
Like a smooth pink-tinted shell
'Neath her ankle's upward swell;
Chimed as clear
As a faery's wedding bell
In mine ear.
Then I stooped low as I might, Mary,
To the ground you made so sweet,
And I whispered soft; " Step light, Mary,
For my heart's beneath your feet. "

Oh, the dreary New Year's eve,
When Love came in Love's despair,
Saying, " Where sweet Love would live,
Sorrow's self must enter there. "
For she passed me in the lane,
Near yon pine, our trysting-place,
With proud step and slow disdain
In her mute and moon-soft face;
And she held the rich man's arm,
She, his last doll tricked out new
In the gawds that kept her warm,
Snow-white plume, silk skirt and shoe.
I came near:
Each slow scornful step that fell
'Neath her ankle's hidden swell
Rang a slow-paced funeral knell,
Near, more near;
As a lost soul's passing bell
Tolling drear.
Then I stooped low as I might, Mary,
To your ear, Love's mercy-seat,
Sighing; " Be not proud; Step light, Mary,
This poor heart's beneath your feet. "

See, the blush of spring is here,
Whilst through all my bloodless frame
Autumn spreads its dying year,
And men know me but by name.
By the sea-sprent abbey-wall
Grows the sward with April bloom,
Day by day, till death's low call
Folds it back to give me room.
Soon her eyes shall cease with joy
In their starry spells to wind him,
Soon he'll toss his broken toy
In the dust of days behind him.
Then if near
Where I sleep, she seeks the sod,
With her foot once more unshod,
Hair unbound and blown abroad,
And her tear
Falls like fire which comes from God, —
Hear me, hear;
Bending low before you part, Mary,
Let my dust these words repeat;
" O step light; for this poor heart, Mary,
Still is yours beneath your feet. "