Classic Poem

She leaned above the river's sedgy brink —
The little wife — half-minded there to drink
Forgetfulness of all the grief and pride
That overwhelmed her spirit like a tide.

She had so blindly trusted! Yet doubt grew —
Whence it had sprung, alas! she hardly knew, —
A hydra-headed monster that devoured
Her happiness ere fully it had flowered.

He who had been her truth! — could he betray?
" Ah, let me die," she cried, " or quickly stay,
Thou who bestowed, unasked, this gift of breath,
Imaginings more terrible than death!"

Lone and forespent, she leaned her heavily
Against a willow; when she seemed to see —
Doubting if that indeed she saw or dreamed,
So full of mystery the vision seemed —

A form unknown, ineffable in grace,
With look compassionate bent on her face.
" Thy tears have moved the Heart Omnipotent,
Wherefore I come, to thee in pity sent, — "

So, as she thought, the wondrous vision spake, —
" To serve thee, if I may, e'en though I make
Confession, grievous unto me, who know
My folly was forgiven long ago. . . .

" A youth was I who fondly pleasure sought,
Careless to ask how dearly it was bought;
Who passed my days in idleness, nor guessed
How close the coils of evil round me pressed,

" Till, like some swimmer boastful of his strength
Who dares too far, I faced the truth at length —
Perceived the awful distance I had come,
And, battling back, despaired of reaching home.

" Then I had perished in my utter need,
Had no one trusted me beyond my meed;
But — I reached port at last, my fate withstood,
Because one woman still believed me good."

Softly the vision faded, and was gone.
The young wife by the river stood alone;
Musing, she lingered there a little while,
And to her pensive lips there came a smile.