  I He called her in from me and shut the door. And she so loved the sunshine and the sky!— She loved them even better yet than I That ne'er knew dearth of them—my mother dead, Nature had nursed me in her lap instead: And I had grown a dark and eerie child That rarely smiled, Save when, shut all alone in grasses high, Looking straight up in God's great lonesome sky And coaxing Mother to smile back on me. 'Twas lying thus, this fair girl suddenly Came to me, nestled in the fields beside A pleasant-seeming home, with doorway wide— The sunshine beating in upon the floor Like golden rain.— O sweet, sweet face above me, turn again And leave me! I had cried, but that an ache Within my throat so gripped it I could make No sound but a thick sobbing. Cowering so, I felt her light hand laid Upon my hair—a touch that ne'er before Had tamed me thus, all soothed and unafraid— It seemed the touch the children used to know When Christ was here, so dear it was—so dear,— At once I loved her as the leaves love dew In midmost summer when the days are new. Barely an hour I knew her, yet a curl Of silken sunshine did she clip for me Out of the bright May-morning of her hair, And bound and gave it to me laughingly, And caught my hands and called me "Little girl," Tiptoeing, as she spoke, to kiss me there! And I stood dazed and dumb for very stress Of my great happiness. She plucked me by the gown, nor saw how mean The raiment—drew me with her everywhere: Smothered her face in tufts of grasses green: Put up her dainty hands and peeped between Her fingers at the blossoms—crooned and talked To them in strange, glad whispers, as we walked,— Said this one was her angel mother—this, Her baby-sister—come back, for a kiss, Clean from the Good-World!—smiled and kissed them, then Closed her soft eyes and kissed them o'er again. And so did she beguile me—so we played,— She was the dazzling Shine—I, the dark Shade— And we did mingle like to these, and thus, Together, made The perfect summer, pure and glorious. So blent we, till a harsh voice broke upon Our happiness.—She, startled as a fawn, Cried, "Oh, 'tis Father!"—all the blossoms gone From out her cheeks as those from out her grasp.— Harsher the voice came:—She could only gasp Affrightedly, "Good-bye!—good-bye! good-bye!" And lo, I stood alone, with that harsh cry Ringing a new and unknown sense of shame Through soul and frame, And, with wet eyes, repeating o'er and o'er,— "He called her in from me and shut the door!" II He called her in from me and shut the door! And I went wandering alone again— So lonely—O so very lonely then, I thought no little sallow star, alone In all a world of twilight, e'er had known Such utter loneliness. But that I wore Above my heart that gleaming tress of hair To lighten up the night of my despair, I think I might have groped into my grave Nor cared to wave The ferns above it with a breath of prayer. And how I hungered for the sweet, sweet face That bent above me in my hiding-place That day amid the grasses there beside Her pleasant home!—"Her pleasant home!" I sighed, Remembering;—then shut my teeth and feigned The harsh voice calling me,—then clinched my nails So deeply in my palms, the sharp wounds pained, And tossed my face toward heaven, as one who pales In splendid martrydom, with soul serene, As near to God as high the guillotine. And I had envied her? Not that—O no! But I had longed for some sweet haven so!— Wherein the tempest-beaten heart might ride Sometimes at peaceful anchor, and abide Where those that loved me touched me with their hands, And looked upon me with glad eyes, and slipped Smooth fingers o'er my brow, and lulled the strands Of my wild tresses, as they backward tipped My yearning face and kissed it satisfied. Then bitterly I murmured as before,— "He called her in from me and shut the door!" III He called her in from me and shut the door! After long struggling with my pride and pain— A weary while it seemed, in which the more I held myself from her, the greater fain Was I to look upon her face again;— At last—at last—half conscious where my feet Were faring, I stood waist-deep in the sweet Green grasses there where she First came to me.— The very blossoms she had plucked that day, And, at her father's voice, had cast away, Around me lay, Still bright and blooming in these eyes of mine; And as I gathered each one eagerly, I pressed it to my lips and drank the wine Her kisses left there for the honey-bee. Then, after I had laid them with the tress Of her bright hair with lingering tenderness, I, turning, crept on to the hedge that bound Her pleasant-seeming home—but all around Was never sign of her!—The windows all Were blinded; and I heard no rippling fall Of her glad laugh, nor any harsh voice call;— But clutching to the tangled grasses, caught A sound as though a strong man bowed his head And sobbed alone—unloved—uncomforted!— And then st |
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