Classic Poem

It was the hour of dawn,
When the heart beats thin and small,
The window glimmered grey,
Framed in a shadow wall.

And in the cold sad light
Of the early morningtide,
The dear dead girl came back
And stood by his bedside.

The girl he lost came back;
He saw her flowing hair;
It flickered and it waved
Like a breath in frosty air.

As in a steamy glass,
Her face was dim and blurred;
Her voice was sweet and thin,
Like the calling of a bird.

" You said that you would come,
You promised not to stay;
And I have waited here,
To help you on the way.

" I have waited on,
But still you bide below;
You said that you would come,
And oh, I want you so!

" For half my soul is here,
And half my soul is there,
When you are on the earth
And I am in the air.

" But on your dressing-stand
There lies a triple key;
Unlock the little gate
Which fences you from me.

" Just one little pang,
Just one throb of pain,
And then your weary head
Between my breasts again. "

In the dim unhomely light
Of the early morningtide,
He took the triple key
And he laid it by his side.

A pistol, silver chased,
An open hunting knife,
A phial of the drug
Which cures the ill of life.

He looked upon the three,
And sharply drew his breath:
" Now help me, oh my love,
For I fear this cold grey death. "

She bent her face above,
She kissed him and she smiled;
She soothed him as a mother
May soothe a frightened child.

" Just that little pang, love,
Just a throb of pain,
And then your weary head
Between my breasts again. "

He snatched the pistol up,
He pressed it to his ear;
But a sudden sound broke in,
And his skin was raw with fear.

He took the hunting knife,
He tried to raise the blade;
It glimmered cold and white,
And he was sore afraid.

He poured the potion out,
But it was thick and brown;
His throat was sealed against it,
And he could not drain it down.

He looked to her for help,
And when he looked — behold!
His love was there before him
As in the days of old.

He saw the drooping head,
He saw the gentle eyes;
He saw the same shy grace of hers
He had been wont to prize.

She pointed and she smiled,
And lo! he was aware
Of a half-lit bedroom chamber
And a silent figure there.

A silent figure lying
A-sprawl upon a bed,
With a silver-mounted pistol
Still clotted to his head.

And as he downward gazed,
Her voice came full and clear,
The homely tender voice
Which he had loved to hear:

" The key is very certain,
The door is sealed to none.
You did it, oh, my darling!
And you never knew it done.

" When the net was broken,
You thought you felt its mesh;
You carried to the spirit
The troubles of the flesh.

" And are you trembling still, dear?
Then let me take your hand;
And I will lead you outward
To a sweet and restful land.

" You know how once in London
I put my griefs on you;
But I can carry yours now —
Most sweet it is to do!

" Most sweet it is to do, love,
And very sweet to plan
How I, the helpless woman,
Can help the helpful man.

" But let me see you smiling
With the smile I know so well;
Forget the world of shadows,
And the empty broken shell.

" It is the worn-out garment
In which you tore a rent;
You tossed it down, and carelessly
Upon your way you went.

" It is not you , my sweetheart,
For you are here with me.
That frame was but the promise of
The thing that was to be —

" A tuning of the choir
Ere the harmonies begin;
And yet it is the image
Of the subtle thing within.

" There's not a trick of body,
There's not a trait of mind,
But you bring it over with you,
Ethereal, refined,

" But still the same; for surely
If we alter as we die,
You would be you no longer,
And I would not be I.

" I might be an angel,
But not the girl you knew;
You might be immaculate,
But that would not be you.

" And now I see you smiling,
So, darling, take my hand;
And I will lead you outward
To a sweet and pleasant land,

" Where thought is clear and nimble,
Where life is pure and fresh,
Where the soul comes back rejoicing
From the mud-bath of the flesh.

" But still that soul is human,
With human ways, and so
I love my love in spirit,
As I loved him long ago. "

So with hands together
And fingers twining tight,
The two dead lovers drifted
In the golden morning light.

But a grey-haired man was lying
Beneath them on a bed,
With a silver-mounted pistol
Still clotted to his head.