But a rose! this rose to wear,-- Perle des Jardins, all elate With sweet life and delicate,-- When he weds her there.
So; 'tis finished. It is well-- Go, thou rose. I have no tear, Word or kiss for thee to bear, And no woe to tell.
Only be thus full of life, Cold and proud, dispassionate, Filled with neither love nor hate, When he calls her wife.
Dead! and all the haughty fate Fair on throat and face of wax, Calm on hands, crossed still and lax, Cold, dispassionate.
Dead! and no word whispered low At the dull ear now would wake One responsive chord or make One wan temple glow.
Dead! and no hot tear would stir Aught of woman, sweet and fair, Woman soul in feet and hair, Once that smiled in her.
She is dead, oh God! and I-- I must live! though life be but One long, hard, monotonous rut For me till I die.
Creeds might help in such a case: But no sermon could have wrought More of faith than you have taught With your pale dead face.
Now I see, oh, now I see My mistake!--so very small, Yet so great it bungled all, _All_ for you and me.
Oft I said, "I feel, I'm sure She could never live that life! She is still my own true wife, She is good and pure!"
You were pure and I bemoiled! That you loathed me, it was just; Weak of soul and left of lust Vulgar, low, and soiled....
Closed--the eyes once filled with dreams! Great, proud eyes!... I see them yet, Miniature nights of lucid jet Filled with starry gleams.
Sealed--the lips; poor, faded lips! Once as red as life could make-- Sweet wild roses, half awake, Dewy to their tips.
Hair!--imperial still, and warm As a Grace's; where one stone, Jeweled, lay ensnared and shone Like a star in storm.
Eyes!--at parting big with pain... God! I see them still! the tear In them!--big as eyes of deer Led by lights and slain....
Woman true, I falsely blamed; Whom I killed with scorn and pride; Woman pure, of whom I lied; With the nameless named:
All you said, Sweet, has come true!-- Ah! this life had woe enough For the little dole of love Giv'n to me and you.
Do you hear me? do you know What I feel now? how it came? You, beyond me like a flame, You, before me like the snow....
Dead! and all my heart's a cup Hollowed for repentant tears, Bitter in the bitter years, Slowly brimming up.