You are the friend of all his early years;
He told me that the bond was strong and close,
His comrade, his companion, even more,
For in your veins there flowed the same hot blood
That coursed in his,—your mothers, sisters,—born
In selfsame hour, linked by that close tie.
Thus were their children knit by call of flesh—
Often he told me that you never failed,
And that when others, with averted gaze,
Would have him know his own unworthiness,
Your eyes held only memories of the past
With hope for fairer future in their depths—
Loyal and loving in their tender blue,
Fit mirror for the loyal, loving heart.
Come with me, then, and stand beside him here;
How still he lies, who was in love with life!
Ah! yes, his face is sweet to look upon,
The restlessness is gone and all the lines
Are softened back once more to vanished youth,
And that strange look, so foreign to his heart,
Which came because his cruel enemy held
So fierce and firm a sway—it, too, is gone—
And so your tender kiss upon his brow
Falls on the face your childhood knew so well.
The last words that he spoke were all for you.
In fierce delirium his accents fell,
Murmuring with contentment “She will come”—
And now that you are here my bursting heart
Must pour out all its anguish, all its joy—
For joy there was, though now this bitter pain.
I was of that strange world you cannot know,
The “half-world” with its glamour and its glare,
Its sin and shame; where men, like ravening wolves,
Feed on the bodies and the souls of us
Who, either steeped in callous wickedness,
Or reckless with a dull and hopeless dread
Of cold and hunger and all bitter things,
Are willing, nay, are sometimes even glad,
To yield our outer selves for inner warmth.
And yet I shrank, for I was young,—so young—
And very simple, made for better things.
One night he came and looking in my face
He said: “You have a true and tender heart,
If you will come with me I'll shelter it,
For I am weary and athirst for love.”
Thus, then, I went. At first I only knew
That I could eat until I had enough,
That I could sleep without the haunting thought
Of what the dreaded day was sure to bring;
But soon a great and mighty passion grew
O'erwhelming both my body and my soul
Because he was so very good to me—
Never a harsh or cruel word or deed,
And even when the fire filled his brain,
For me he only had the anguished look
That seemed to pray me to forgive him all.
You, who have never known the fierce, hot fumes
That rise and choke the very soul of man
And blur the tottering reason till it fall,
How can you judge of him, and how could she
Whose fair white bosom was a thought too chaste
To pillow a repentant weary head?
But I who knew the evil of the world
Could never shrink before so sad a thing;
My breast was ready for that burning brow,
My hands to clasp his hands, my lips to meet
His sad petitions that I hold him close.
And so the mother that is in us all
Joined with the love of woman unto man
And gave me strength to battle for his sake.
Only, when in his eyes I read the look
That longed for her, my swift resentment rose;
And sometimes when he stroked the soft fair coil
Of ash-gold hair that crowned my drooping head,
I almost flung the tender hand aside,
Because I knew he dreamed of other hair
That he had loved, when eyes as soft as mine
Smiled into his and pledged their marriage vow.
Then, sometimes, friends of his would come and speak
Of that fair world of yours, unknown to me,
And afterward he would be lost in gloom,
Or quick to let the Beast spring out and grip
His shattered being in relentless sway.
And sometimes they would whisper when they went
Saying, “Poor fellow, he will die some day
With boots on, in some cheap and drunken brawl.”
Then I, who heard, did register a vow
That he I loved should never perish so.
Look at him now in fair and cleanly sheets,
The picture of his mother near his hand,
And all the darkened room as sweet and fresh
As was the memory of his mother's home;
For when he fell to-day, I heard the cry
And saw him lying, and I ran to lift
His fallen body from the cold hard stones;
With strange, undreamed of strength I bore him up
And laid him here, where, quick, with eager hands
I dragged the boots from off the weary feet
So that harsh prophecy should not come true,
While he was moaning like a little child
In wild delirium your very name.


And so I sent for you, and you have come,
Although too late to listen to his words,
Yet not too late to hear what I must say—
Surely, the Christ whose very name is love
Will hear me too, for long ago He said
Of that poor woman who had been like me:
“She has loved much, so much shall be forgiven.”
So now, perchance, my prayer for him I love
Will reach the far and heavenly mercy-seat
Where Christ, who waits with wide, condoning arms,
Shall welcome him because of what he did—
Because he taught me what a holy thing
Is human love, and by his gentleness
He saved my vagrant and despairing soul.
Then God, who is our Father, can but save
His erring soul by love that is divine—
What! you would kiss me? Yes, I take your kiss;
We are both women, and we both have loved!