Classic Poem

Child of my love, oh little tousled head
And warm cheek nestling near thy mother's heart,
Around us now the black Egyptian night
Fringed with the breathless, shining host of stars
Folds us in silence as I strain thee here
Against my happy side, — I am content.

Only the sighing of the deathless winds
From out the desert spaces, and the sands
That lash round Joseph's ankles, plodding slow
With gray, bent head and patient, sandaled feet
So still I scarce can hear him through the dark
Searching the road, the donkey's taken breath
That shakes me with its steady rise and fall,
And thou, dear restless sleeper, at my breast
With thy half-smothered wail so sudden stopped,
These only break the brooding quietness
That lurks in shade along our stealthy path.

Before us stretch the dim and dusky realms
Whence Moses led the Chosen long ago
Into the land which now his children flee —
On this same road, perhaps, where Benjamin
Wept that the cup was found within his sack
Unknowing whose the love that placed it there,
And turned him back from home to Joseph's arms.
To Joseph's arms, — aye! — not such as lead
Before me, even now, my halter-rope;
For he was young and strong, with smooth round arms
That must have clasped with rough sweet tenderness
So close it hurt, his brother's slender form, —
Such arms as cling about my body still
Until I swoon remembering, — hush my babe.

And so we pass across the desert sands,
The child and I, our beast, and Joseph there
With patient steps, my husband whom they gave.
My husband, — yes, for women must obey;
They are not wise to choose what suits them best,
And he had birth, — besides, a steady trade,
Was sage and sober, just and kind to rule
Within his house, — what more could woman wish?

Ah yes, what more? Oh, timid new-made wives
With frightened eyes that plead for gentleness,
And lips that, half-reluctant, yield their store
Of rifled sweetness to a ruthless strength
That crushes them with kissing, fearfully
When ye set out upon that nameless road
All women travel with the man they love,
Whence there is no returning, can there be
One thing ye pray to find along the way,
Which, if ye find not, turns to mockery
All that ye hoped for in your setting-out,
Until your heart dies in you ...?

And yet he loves me, — as a father would
A fragile child that plays about his house
And must be humored for her cheeriness
Lighting the dark old rooms that else were sad.
So, even I into his lonely heart
Stole like a sunbeam when he came to build
My father's flat-roofed house of mighty beam
Upon the olive-slope; and when 'twas done,
In payment, asked to take me as his wife.
And since he came of David and the kings,
And builded well, and owned himself a house
A maid would joy to govern, — I was wed.

He has been kind, — too kind sometimes, I think —
Until I pity his dumb loneliness
That married spring to winter, selfishly,
As did his withered grand-sire long ago
Warming his clammy palms in younger hands,
When he had done with singing and with love.
And I have tried, — oh God, how have I tried! —
Still to be faithful, for he could not know
Of all I left behind to follow him.

But now as through the soft and noiseless sand
We flee along the path that camels tread,
Past the dim huddled camps of caravans
Into the desert spaces where the stars
Seem far away like ghosts of burnt-out lamps
That haunt the dusky chambers of the night,
There breathes upon the shadow-freighted wind
The clear insistent summons of a voice
That calls me back along the way we come.

Nay, God, I will not hear it, — close my ears,
Pity Thy handmaid, — see, I draw my veil
Tighter about me, shutting out the wind
And the voice with it.
(No, I am not cold,
Joseph, my husband, not so very tired,
And yet I shivered; let us hasten on.)
Again his voice! It creeps through every stop
Calling my soul; and yet I will not heed.

(Faster, still faster, Joseph; dawn will come
When we can flee no longer; faster still!)

I cannot shut it out; nay, let it call
And I will hear it though it slay my soul.
Will feel his arms about me, and his breath
Sweeter than cassia buds upon my cheek,
With lips that pluck my very life away
Leaving me more than life, his deathless love
That nestles in my bosom, even now,
With baby fingers minding me of him.

So, let me dream my happy little dream
As in the days ere Joseph came to build.
Sure, God will not begrudge it, — only that;
And Joseph? Well I know not; God is just.