  Mrs. Rosa Vertner Jeffrey, one of the most beautiful of Kentucky women, whose personal loveliness has caused some critics to forget she was a gifted poet, was born at Natchez, Mississippi, in 1828, the daughter of John Y. Griffith, a writer of considerable reputation in his day. Her mother died when she was but nine months old, and she was reared by her aunt. When Rosa was ten years of age her adopted parents removed to Lexington, Kentucky, where she was educated at the Episcopal Seminary. In
A GLOVE [From The Crimson Hand and Other Poems (Philadelphia, 1881)] In a box of airy trifles—fans, flowers, and ribbons gay— I chanced to find a tasselled glove, worn once on the first of May. Alas! for that beautiful, fragrant time, so far in the past away, And crowned with sweeter memories than any other May, Standing alone, in a checkered life—it was my wedding day! The passing hours were shod with light, and their glowing sandals made Such sunny tracks that they guide me yet through a retrospect of shade. Through changes and shadows of twelve long years, down that love-lit path I stray; The winters come and the winters go, yet it leads to an endless May. No leaves of the autumn have fallen there, and never a flake of snow Has chilled the path of those May-day hours that gleam through the long ago! The flowering cherry's wild perfume came stealing, bitter sweet, From fragrant breezes drifting heaps of blossoms to my feet; The flowers are dust, but the bees that bore their subtle sweets away Dropped golden honey on the path of that beautiful first of May. And the sweetness clings, for I gather it in wandering back today. Twelve years! twelve years!—a long, long life for a little tasselled glove! Yet, I treasure it still for his dear sake who clasped with so much love The hand that wore, on that festal night, this delicate, dainty thing— His forever! bound to him by the link of a wedding ring! The glove is soiled and faded now, but the ring is as bright today As the love that flooded my life with light on that beautiful first of May. A MEMORY [From the same] A memory filled my heart last night With all its youthful glow; I buried it long ago; I buried it deep, I bade it rest, And whispered a long "good-by;" But lo! it has risen—too sweet, too blest Too cherished a thing to die. In the dim, dim past, where the shadows fall, I left it, but, crowned with light, A spirit of joy in the banquet-hall, It haunted my soul last night. One earnest, tender, passionate glance— I cherished it—that was all, As we drifted on through the mazy dance To a musical rise and fall. It rose with a weird and witching swell, 'Mid the twinkling of merry feet, And clasped me close in a wild, strange spell Of memories bitter-sweet; Bitter—because they left a sting And vanished: a lifelong pain; Sweet—because nothing can ever bring Such joy to my heart again. To me it was nothing, only a waltz; To the other it meant no wrong; Men may be cruel—who are not false— And women remember too long. |
|
