22
Outside the window the rain slowly ceased;
And over all the housetops in the east
The mists divided slowly; the east grew grey;
And very far and low, a golden ray
Smote upward from the approaches of the day.
She opened her eyes; together they watched it grow,
And without speech thought of the long-ago
Dawn on the bosom of the summer sea.
Then again suddenly
And wearily
Her head drooped to his shoulder, and she said—
“I am tired, tired to dying. Carry me
For once within your arms and lay me on my bed.”
He lifted her slight lifeless form, and bore her
Down the long corridor to where, beneath
Its towering canopy, the white bed stood.
He lit the candle on the stand before her,
And as she lay in syncope, the sheath
Of gown took from her body, in such mood
As might a husband decking his dead spouse
For burial, and freed her sandaled feet,
And spread the great gold coverlet on the bed.
And in the emptiness of the silent house
Looked down upon the lids troubled and sweet,
And softly kissed the dark smooth drooping head.
She smiled a little and put out her arm,
Bare, beautiful; and drew him down, and kissed
His hair.
“You have put me safe beyond the reach of harm,”
She whispered. “I was so tired that a mist
Seemed to come down upon me unaware.
Good-bye!—I hope a long and last good-bye! …
And may you never hate me utterly!”
“Hate you!” … And then he felt
All barriers melt
Within him like an ice-bound river in Spring.
A sudden madness flamed in him; he knelt
Desperately by the bed,—then rose to fling
Himself upon it; with starved arms he pressed
Her long smooth body in a fierce embrace;
He buried his face
Against the delicate softness of her breast—
And cried—“You whom I love! what matters all the rest?
This, this is yours and mine,—this, this is best!”
And she stirred wildly in his tightening arms,—
At first as with alarms,—
Then, changing, clung with a fierce freed agony.
She clasped his head more closely to her side
And from the shaken depths of her being cried—
“Yes!—Yes!—Yes!—let it be!”
Then as he turned, dizzy with his delight,
Dreaming now at her side
To enter the golden hour of long ago,
He saw an ashen light
Sweep through her eyes,—bewildered, he saw her hide
Her face from him; and suddenly she cried—
“No, no, it cannot be! You will hate me—but go! … go! …”
And she sank back with drooping lids, and seemed to sleep, or slept;
While into the bright alien day, out of the silent house he crept. . . .
And over all the housetops in the east
The mists divided slowly; the east grew grey;
And very far and low, a golden ray
Smote upward from the approaches of the day.
She opened her eyes; together they watched it grow,
And without speech thought of the long-ago
Dawn on the bosom of the summer sea.
Then again suddenly
And wearily
Her head drooped to his shoulder, and she said—
“I am tired, tired to dying. Carry me
For once within your arms and lay me on my bed.”
He lifted her slight lifeless form, and bore her
Down the long corridor to where, beneath
Its towering canopy, the white bed stood.
He lit the candle on the stand before her,
And as she lay in syncope, the sheath
Of gown took from her body, in such mood
As might a husband decking his dead spouse
For burial, and freed her sandaled feet,
And spread the great gold coverlet on the bed.
And in the emptiness of the silent house
Looked down upon the lids troubled and sweet,
And softly kissed the dark smooth drooping head.
She smiled a little and put out her arm,
Bare, beautiful; and drew him down, and kissed
His hair.
“You have put me safe beyond the reach of harm,”
She whispered. “I was so tired that a mist
Seemed to come down upon me unaware.
Good-bye!—I hope a long and last good-bye! …
And may you never hate me utterly!”
“Hate you!” … And then he felt
All barriers melt
Within him like an ice-bound river in Spring.
A sudden madness flamed in him; he knelt
Desperately by the bed,—then rose to fling
Himself upon it; with starved arms he pressed
Her long smooth body in a fierce embrace;
He buried his face
Against the delicate softness of her breast—
And cried—“You whom I love! what matters all the rest?
This, this is yours and mine,—this, this is best!”
And she stirred wildly in his tightening arms,—
At first as with alarms,—
Then, changing, clung with a fierce freed agony.
She clasped his head more closely to her side
And from the shaken depths of her being cried—
“Yes!—Yes!—Yes!—let it be!”
Then as he turned, dizzy with his delight,
Dreaming now at her side
To enter the golden hour of long ago,
He saw an ashen light
Sweep through her eyes,—bewildered, he saw her hide
Her face from him; and suddenly she cried—
“No, no, it cannot be! You will hate me—but go! … go! …”
And she sank back with drooping lids, and seemed to sleep, or slept;
While into the bright alien day, out of the silent house he crept. . . .
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