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(From The Point of View)
WERE you to ask what age of womanhood | |
| Brings most delight, producing most of good, | |
| I should, to quote a phrase much used in rhyme, | |
| “Turn back the leaflets in the Book of Time.” | |
| To find the page, whereon, in letters bright, | 5 |
| Is written clear, my first ecstatic night. | |
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| I was a boy attuned to passion’s strain, | |
| I knew its music and I knew its pain, | |
| I longed for—something—but, I was a boy; | |
| I knew not how to change my pain to joy. | 10 |
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| But Heaven has given to earth, in its dire needs, | |
| No sweeter thing than widows, in their weeds, | |
| And in the household, where I ruled supreme, | |
| A widow lived, a sorrowing, throbbing dream. | |
| I was her comfort. Many times, at night, | 15 |
| When I, awakened by some childish fright, | |
| Cried out to her, she took me to her side, | |
| And kissed me till my fears were pacified. | |
| She was my confidant. My childish fears, | |
| My hopes and dreams and all my boyish tears | 20 |
| Found comfort sweet upon that loving breast | |
| Where all perplexities were set at rest. | |
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| One night, worn out with tossing to and fro, | |
| In longings vain which boyhood’s night must know, | |
| I dared to make pretence of sudden fright, | 25 |
| That I might see that figure, clad in white, | |
| Come stealing to my side to whisper low: | |
| “What makes my precious darling tremble so?” | |
| All ye who cannot sympathize, stop here. | |
| I speak in tenderness and hold most dear | 30 |
| The memory of that sweet transition hour, | |
| When Nature first revealed her wondrous power. | |
| My heart still throbs as I remember when | |
| I joined the ranks of sturdy little men. | |
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| I know not now, what courage made me dare, | 35 |
| But, pillowed close, upon her bosom fair, | |
| A truant hand went wandering far astray | |
| And found—that night hath greater charms than day. | |
| As mighty Mars, full statured, in an hour, | |
| From great Athena’s helmet, in his power, | 40 |
| Sprang forth full armoured, at the will of Jove, | |
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| So I sprang forth, equipped and armed for love. | |
| With new-found strength, I ceased to be afraid | |
| And something wild within would not be stayed. | |
| Disarmed, perhaps, by hungry widowhood. | 45 |
| She could not check me, even if she would | |
| And kisses wild were riotously pressed | |
| On starving lips too long left uncaressed, | |
| And roses red, upon the white flesh burned, | |
| The while she murmured: “Child! where have you learned?” | 50 |
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| I knew my madness, but my heart was fire | |
| And all was swept away in my desire. | |
| Her very gown of daintiest, filmiest lace, | |
| Seemed cumbersome to me and out of place; | |
| I reached and tore it, throat to hem, to find— | 55 |
| How cruel Fate has been to those born blind. | |
| For even the moonbeams, stealing through the bars, | |
| Turned back to whisper to the twinkling stars, | |
| And tip-toed out again to realms of space, | |
| But left the memory of her blushing face. | 60 |
| And when, at last, her beating heart stood still, | |
| As though no more subservient to her will, | |
| And when with fluttering breath, she closed her eyes, | |
| I seemed to lose her, in a mist of sighs. | |
| My senses swam as though a bursting star | 65 |
| Had set on fire the cloudland realms afar, | |
| For one brief moment, I was lost in fear | |
| That all I held so passionately dear | |
| Might chide me as she never had before, | |
| And hold me in her clinging arms no more. | 70 |
| I was a boy—unversed in Nature’s needs, | |
| Unlearned of a widow’s ways, without their weeds. | |
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| She was not wanton. Nay! she was a woman. | |
| Whose wakened, passionate heart was truly human. | |
| And just when love was bursting into flower, | 75 |
| The fates, relentless, sent her saddest hour, | |
| And, torn apart, from all she held most dear, | |
| Time’s healing touch had dried the falling tear. | |
| She loved me. I could feel her bosom stir | |
| And strive to soothe my turbulent thoughts of her. | 80 |
| But boon companions who have loved for long, | |
| Draw wavering lines betwixt the right and wrong. | |
| And who shall say that love, new-born like this, | |
| Must never know the madness of a kiss! | |
| And who shall say it was her duty clear | 85 |
| To let me find a different atmosphere | |
| In which to learn the mysteries of the world, | |
| Where unclad sin, in wicked eddies whirled! | |
| I must not whisper, in a careless way, | |
| The thoughts that came to me at dawn of day. | 90 |
| And yet—when asked what age of womanhood | |
| Brings most delight, producing most of good, | |
| I turn to widowhood with tender touch, | |
| And say: “Stop her, for widows know so much.” | |
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