Weeds by the Wall Part 14

It was last Hallowe'en, the haunted, the dread, In the wind-tattered wood by the storm-twisted pine, That I, who am living, kept tryst with the dead, And clasped her a moment and dreamed she was mine.

THE IMAGE IN THE GLa.s.s.

I.

The slow reflection of a woman's face Grew, as by witchcraft, in the oval s.p.a.ce Of that strange gla.s.s on which the moon looked in:-- As cruel as death beneath the auburn hair The dark eyes burned; and, o'er the faultless chin,-- Evil as night yet as the daybreak fair,-- Rose-red and sensual smiled the mouth of sin.

II.

The glorious throat and shoulders and, twin crests Of snow, the splendid beauty of the b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Filled soul and body with the old desire.-- Daughter of darkness! how could this thing be?

You, whom I loathed! for whom my heart's fierce fire Had burnt to ashes of satiety!

You, who had sunk my soul in all that's dire!

III.

How came your image there? and in that room!

Where she, the all adored, my life's sweet bloom, Died poisoned! She, my scarcely one week's bride-- Yea, poisoned by a gift you sent to her, Thinking her death would win me to your side.

And so it did! but ... well, it made some stir-- By your own hand, I think, they said you died.

IV.

Time pa.s.sed. And then--was it the curse of crime, That night of nights, which forced my feet to climb To that locked bridal-room?--'Twas midnight when A longing, like to madness, mastered me, Compelled me to that chamber, which for ten Sad years was sealed; a dark necessity To gaze upon--I knew not what again.

V.

Love's ghost, perhaps. Or, in the curvature Of that strange mirror, something that might cure The ache in me--some message, said perchance Of her dead loveliness, which once it gla.s.sed, That might repeat again my lost romance In momentary pictures of the past, While in its depths her image swam in trance.

VI.

I did not dream to see the soulless eyes Of you I hated; nor the lips where lies And kisses curled; your features,--that were tuned To all demonic,--smiling up as might Some deep d.a.m.nation! while.... my G.o.d! I swooned!...

Oozed slowly out, between the breast's dead white, The ghastly red of that wide dagger-wound.

HER PRAYER.

She kneels with haggard eyes and hair Unto the Christ upon the Cross: Her gown is torn; her feet are bare.

What is this thing she begs of him, The gentle Christ upon the Cross?

Her hands are clasped; her face is dim.

Is it forgiveness for her sin, She asks of Christ upon the Cross?

And mercy for the soul within?

With anguished face, so sad and sweet, She kneels to Christ upon the Cross: Her arms embrace his nail-pierced feet.

Her tears run slowly down her face, O piteous Christ upon the Cross!

And through her tears she sighs and says:--

"The thing that I would crave of Thee, O Christ upon the cruel Cross, Is not a thing to comfort me.

"Thou, who hast taught us to forgive, O tender Christ upon the Cross, Help Thou my love for _him_ to live.

"Oh, let the love that was my fall, O loving Christ upon the Cross, Still to my life be all in all.

"With love for him who loves no more, O patient Christ upon the Cross, Make Thou my punishment full sore."

She kneels with haggard eyes and hair Unto the Christ upon the Cross: Her gown is torn; her feet are bare.

THE MESSAGE OF THE LILIES.

My soul and I went walking Beneath the moon of Spring; The lilies pale were talking, Were faintly murmuring.

From dimly moonlit places They thrust long throats of white, And lovely lifted faces Of fragrant snow and light.

Their language was an essence, Yet clearer than a bird's; And from it grew a presence As music grows from words.

A spirit born of silence And chast.i.ty and dew Among Elysian islands Were not more white to view.

A spirit born of fire And holiness and snow Within the Heavens' desire, Were not more pure to know.

He smiled amid them lifting Pale hands of prayer and peace-- And through the moonlight, drifting, Came words to me like these:

"We are His lilies, lilies, Whose praises aye we sing!

We are the lilies, lilies Of Christ our Lord and King!"

A LEGEND OF THE LILY.

Pale as a star that s.h.i.+nes through rain Her face was seen at the window-pane, Her sad, frail face that watched in vain.