Page:Reuben and other poems.pdf/31

 (A young oft-puzzled man) for ponderings dark On heaven-sent grief that hardens; and grim cause Had the dry pity which, invading, sapp’d The doctor’s old regard. Reuben, who long Had shunn’d his visits, as he left the house One July noon, upon the dusty road Stood and confronted him with last year’s cry: “Doctor! how long?” Remembering last year’s look The doctor glanced away and shook his head. “I say, How long?” cried Reuben in a voice So rude and desperate that the other turn’d Quickly, a moment stared at the strange light (Not anger, dread, despair—hope could it be?) Fierce and peremptory in those faded eyes, Then slowly, with attention, answer’d: “Well— In such a case ’tis hard to tell. Perhaps— Say—at a hazard, Christmas time”

“So long?” The light died out, the pinch’d and sombre face Grew ashen. “God ha’ mercy on us!” he said Like one who knows not what his tongue is doing— “Christmas? Live on to Christmas!” “But the pain May lessen,” said the doctor, watching. “Ay!” He answer’d dull, “That’s good. . . That’s not it. Pain? All’s pain now—No!” he suddenly cried out, “There'll not be less! More, doctor, worse!”