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(The Yellow Book, Vol. IX.)
WITH quiet step and gentle face, | |
| With tattered cloak, and empty hands, | |
| She came into the market place, | |
| A traveller from many lands. | |
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| And by the costly merchandise, | 5 |
| Where people thronged in eager quest, | |
| She paused awhile, with patient eyes, | |
| And begged a little space for rest. | |
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| And where the fairest blossoms lay, | |
| And where the rarest fruits were sent | 10 |
| From earth’s abundant store that day, | |
| She turned and smiled in her content. | |
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| And where the meagre stall was bare, | |
| Where no exultant voice was heard, | |
| Beside the barren basket, there | 15 |
| She stayed to say her sweetest word. | |
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| Around her all the people came, | |
| Drawn by the magic of her speech, | |
| To learn the music of her name, | |
| And whose the country she would reach. | 20 |
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| She looked upon them, as she stood, | |
| Until her eyes were full of tears, | |
| She said, “My way is fair and good, | |
| And good my service to the years.” | |
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| When, for her beauty, men besought | 25 |
| To ease the sadness at her heart | |
| She murmured, “You can give me nought | |
| But space to rest, ere I depart.” | |
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| When for her tender healing ways, | |
| The women begged her love again, | 30 |
| She answered, “In these bounteous days | |
| I may not let my love remain.” | |
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| And when the children touched her hair, | |
| And put their hands about her face, | |
| She sighed, “There is so much to share, | 35 |
| I well might bide a little space.” | |
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| But ere the shadows longer grew, | |
| Or up the sky the evening stole, | |
| She took the lonely way she knew, | |
| And journeyed onward to her goal. | 40 |
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| She turned away with steadfast air, | |
| From all their choice of fair and sweet. | |
| And as she turned they saw how bare | |
| And bruisèd were her pilgrim feet. | |
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| Through many a rent and tattered fold, | 45 |
| As she went forward on her quest, | |
| They saw the big wounds, deep and old, | |
| The cruel scars upon her breast. | |
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| They called to her to wait, to learn | |
| How they would cure her pain, to dwell | 50 |
| With them awhile; she did but turn | |
| And wave her smiling last farewell. | |
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| And in their midst a woman rose, | |
| And said, “I do not know her name, | |
| Nor whose the land to which she goes, | 55 |
| But well the roads by which she came. | |
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| “Among the lonely hills they lie, | |
| Beyond the town’s protecting wall, | |
| Where travellers may faint and die, | |
| And no one hearken to their call. | 60 |
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| “Far up the barren heights they go, | |
| Worn ever deeper night and day, | |
| By toiling feet, and tears that flow | |
| For some sweet flower to mark the way. | |
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| “And down the stony slopes they lead, | 65 |
| Through many a deep and dark ravine | |
| Where long ago it was decreed | |
| Nor sun nor moonlight should be seen. | |
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| “Across the waste where no help is, | |
| And through the winds and blinding showers, | 70 |
| Among the mist-bound silences | |
| And through the cold despairing hours. | |
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| “Among the lonely, lonely hills, | |
| Ah me, I do not know her name, | |
| Nor whose the bidding she fulfils, | 75 |
| But well the roads by which she came.” | |
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| Then spoke a youth, who long, apart, | |
| Had watched the people come and go, | |
| With clearer eyes and wiser heart, | |
| And cried, “Her face and name I know. | 80 |
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| “And well the passage of her flight, | |
| The starless plains she must ascend, | |
| And well the darkness of the night, | |
| In which her pilgrimage shall end. | |
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| “But stronger than the years that roll, | 85 |
| Than travail past or yet to be, | |
| She presses to her hidden goal, | |
| A crownless, unknown Victory.” | |
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