I kissed her lips, and held her on my heart, And viewed her as I ne’er had done before. I gazed upon her features o’er and o’er; Marked her white, tender face—her fragile form, Like some frail plant that withers in the storm; Saw she was fairer in her new-found joy Than e’er before; and thought, “Can I destroy God’s handiwork, or leave it at the best A broken harp, while I close clasp my bliss?” I bent my head and gave her one last kiss, And sought my room, and found there such relief As sad hearts feel when first alone with grief.
The moon went down, slow sailing from my sight, And left the stars to watch away the night. O stars, sweet stars, so changeless and serene! What depths of woe your pitying eyes have seen! The proud sun sets, and leaves us with our sorrow, To grope alone in darkness till the morrow. The languid moon, e’en if she deigns to rise, Soon seeks her couch, grown weary of our sighs; But from the early gloaming till the day Sends golden-liveried heralds forth to say He comes in might; the patient stars shine on, Steadfast and faithful, from twilight to dawn. And, as they shone upon Gethsemane, And watched the struggle of a God-like soul, Now from the same far height they shone on me, And saw the waves of anguish o’er me roll.
The storm had come upon me all unseen: No sound of thunder fell upon my ear; No cloud arose to tell me it was near; But under skies all sunlit, and serene, I floated with the current of the stream, And thought life all one golden-haloed dream. When lo! a hurricane, with awful force, Swept swift upon its devastating course, Wrecked my frail bark, and cast me on the wave Where all my hopes had found a sudden grave. Love makes us blind and selfish; otherwise I had seen Helen’s secret in her eyes; So used I was to reading every look In her sweet face, as I would read a book. But now, made sightless by love’s blinding rays, I had gone on unseeing, to the end Where Pain dispelled the mist of golden haze That walled me in, and lo! I found my friend Who journeyed with me—at my very side— Had been sore wounded to the heart, while I, Both deaf and blind, saw not, nor heard her cry. And then I sobbed, “O God! I would have died To save her this.” And as I cried in pain, There leaped forth from the still, white realm of Thought Where Conscience dwells, that unimpassioned spot As widely different from the heart’s domain As north from south—the impulse felt before, And put away; but now it rose once more, In greater strength, and said, “Heart, wouldst thou prove What lips have uttered? Then go, lay thy love On Friendship’s altar, as thy offering.” “Nay!” cried my heart, “ask any other thing— Ask life itself—’twere easier sacrifice. But ask not love, for that I cannot give.”