  Well I remember it, that night in May, That last, sweet night in the Old World long ago, The last ere my departure—the dark room That brooded ’round us, and the drowsy breath, Out of the courtyard, of the linden-trees, Pungent and sad. Only your hand I felt, Reached to me in the darkness; and the beat All through its fingers of the unconscious blood, Your life at battle, in the silence told Immortally to mine its plaintive tale And doom eternal—only your hand I felt, Reached to me in the darkness—yet it seemed In your hand’s touch I touched your very self, Your very presence, changeable, careless, wild— But O how poignant—sharp with all delight, And gracious with dear bounties to bestow, How greatly granted! Drowsily then at last, In the old way, you begged me for some legend Out of my boyhood’s record, some romance From the far world that bore me; and my voice, In the sweet, alien tongue, your mother-tongue, Moved through the darkness with a peace unfeigned— For a grave peace was on us, and the fear That thrilled the midnight, fell away. The street Slumbered, save where, departing, like a ghost’s, Faint footfalls down the farthest distance sighed; And dwindled out forever.... So you slept. Well I remember it, that night in May— The sleep, the hushed awakenings, full of dread, From haunted meres of horror and disdain, From dreams of terror—and the mad return Into the bounteous pity of two arms, The comfort and the kindness. O the return Forever and forever, wild and sad, Seraphic with all weariness and pain, Insatiate with all love—as if to slake In one abandon all the desperate drought Of the years to come! Upon my own I felt The wet, salt quivering of your lips, and all Your being fold me in, urgent to save, Urgent to hide the approaching loneliness, Our bitter portion; prismed in tears, the dusk Swam ’round with dizzy color: the nightingales, Beauty’s disdain above the war of things, Beauty’s high pity from her virgin heights, Our meeting hearts pierced with a single pang— Like a bright sword of sorrow through the breast Driven, and like a bruising sword withdrawn. The sun arose— Fled were the nightingales, the love, the joy— And with him rose at last the relentless fear, Like a harsh face never to be pushed back, Between your face and mine; till all the terror, The loneliness, the irrevocable fate, In the dim twilight hugged me, and a cry, Up from my self to your self, would have rent My hesitant lips, in the great need, to you Turned for the last compassion.... But you slept. At peace you lay. Over you in the dawn I leaned, and knew you truly what you were. Then a great love Triumphing over sorrow, like the light Clearing the west when sunset’s wrath has waned Before the risen stars—a mystery—welled Up through me radiant, helpless where you lay In the calm pose of sleep: and above Time, Our little passion, and the circumstance Of temporal tumult, self to self we met; And sundered reverent.... Faintest breath of flowers Stirred in the twilight fragrantly, and there The pathos of our days together filled me With a new wonder—flooding on me came A host of memories, as to one long dead, Lifted beyond his living; till all seemed Marvellous and immortal and benign. And now The hour was come. Beside your quiet breast I begged forgiveness for my many sins Done to you, though unwitting—all the hurt— In a swift prayer, and even for this last— To wake you to your sorrow. And your lips Forgave me—yes, in the silence. So I touched Your lids with kisses. And you woke, and wept. But brave to the end with a heart-breaking bravery— Gallant and gracious, dear with sacred eyes, You let me go. With a half-kiss we parted. IIAlong the city-ways Already day’s vehement tumult had begun: Through street and justled alley, court and square, The tireless and eternal Heart poured forth Its myriad human faces, grave or glad, On the old course of toil (a choral hymn From the lips of Life) each face a testimony Of some prefiguring love. O the delight, The incredible bounty and sustaining will Of passionate longing, peopling all the earth— And the joy of man and woman! The laughing boys! The milkman clanking along in his cart, and there Two bonneted old women, and there a thief, Perhaps, with a night’s booty sneaking home! Yet solemn all and sacred, with new eyes I saw them then, and in each face I seemed With a new soul to read the soul beneath; Through love and pain and sorrow having passed Into the breast of all humanity— Through love and sorrow. Yes, and for your sake, Being human, all things human touched to love This heart of mine, made holy; and the thought Of the million other hearts beyond the dawn— The gladness, and the sadness, and the pain— Came back upon me like a lifting music, Beautiful, and most sorrowful, and divine. Till a vast compassion |
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