Page:Maurine and Other Poems (1910).pdf/35

 Some fancy called him thither unforeseen. So years had passed, till seven lay between His going and the coming of this note, Which I hid in my bosom, and replied To Aunt Ruth’s queries, “What the truant wrote?” By saying he was still upon the wing, And merely dropped a line, while journeying, To say he lived: and she was satisfied.

Sometimes it happens, in this world so strange, A human heart will pass through mortal strife, And writhe in torture: while the old sweet life, So full of hope and beauty, bloom and grace, Is slowly strangled by remorseless Pain: And one stern, cold, relentless, takes its place— A ghastly, pallid spectre of the slain. Yet those in daily converse see no change Nor dream the heart has suffered. So that day I passed along toward the troubled way Stern duty pointed, and no mortal guessed A mighty conflict had disturbed my breast.

I had resolved to yield up to my friend The man I loved. Since she, too, loved him so I saw no other way in honour left. She was so weak and fragile, once bereft Of this great hope, that held her with such power, She would wilt down, like some frost-bitten flower, And swift, untimely death would be the end. But I was strong; and hardy plants, which grow In out-door soil, can bear bleak winds that blow From Arctic lands, whereof a single breath Would lay the hot-house blossom low in death.

The hours went by, too slow, and yet too fast. All day I argued with my foolish heart That bade me play the shrinking coward’s part And hide from pain. And when the day had past And time for Vivian’s call drew near and nearer, It pleaded, “Wait until the way seems clearer; Say you are ill—or busy; keep away Until you gather strength enough to play The part you have resolved on.”

“Nay, not so,”