Never! oh, never! Though you prove The whole as clear as light, I’d ne’er receive One word. As in my life, so I believe In Willie!
Fool and blind! your God above Knows that I lie not when I say that he You dwarf with your weak names is mine, mine, mine! He worships me--dost hear? He worships _me_, Me only! What art thou, a feeble child, That _thou_ shouldst speak of loving? Haste, aside, Lest we should drown you in the torrent wild Of our strong meeting loves, that may not bide Nor know your dying, even; feeble weed Tossed on the shore--[_The maiden faints._ Why could I not divine The truth at first? [_Fans her._ Fierce love, why shouldst thou kill This little one? The child hath done no ill, Poor wounded, broken blossom. I should pour My gentlest pity--
Madam, thanks; no more Do I require your aid.
How calm she seems, How cold her far-off eyes! Poor little heart. The pity of it! all its happy dreams, With a whole life’s idolatry to part In one short moment. (_Speaks._) Child, let us be friends; Not ours the fault, it is the work of Fate. And now, before your hapless journey ends, Say, in sweet charity, you do not hate Me for my love. Trust me, I’ll tend him well; As mine own heart’s blood, will I care for him Till strong again. Then shall he come and tell The whole to you--the cup from dregs to brim-- How, with undoubting faith In the young fancy that he thought was love For you, he came a-down the glittering path Of Washington society; above The throng I saw his noble Saxon head, Sunny with curls, towering among the rest In calm security--scorn that is bred Of virtue, and that largeness which your West With its wide sweep of fields gives to her sons-- A certain careless largeness in the look, As though a thousand prairie-miles it took Within its easy range. Ah! blindly runs Our fate. We met, we two so far apart In every thought, in life, in soul, in heart-- Our very beings clashed. He, fair, severe; I, dark and free; his days a routine clear, Lighted by conscience; I, in waking dream Of colors, music, warmth, the scents of flowers, The sweep of velvet, and the diamond’s gleam, A cloud of romance heavy on the air, The boudoir curtained from the light of day, Where all the highest came to call me fair, And whispered vows I laughed in scorn away. Was it my fault that Nature chose to give The splendid beauty of this hair, these eyes, This creamy skin? And if the golden prize Of fortune came to me, should I not live In the rich luxury my being craved? I give my word, I no more thought of time-- Whether ’twas squandered, trifled with, or saved, Than the red rose in all her damask prime. Each day I filled with joys full to the brim-- The rarest fruits and wines, the costliest lace, The ecstasy of music, every whim For some new folly gratified, the grace Of statues idealized in niches, touch Of softest fabrics. Ah! the world holds much For those who love her; and I never heard In all my happy glowing life one word Against her, till--he came! We met, we loved, Like flash of lightning from a cloudless sky, So sudden, strange, the white intensity-- Intensity resistless! Swift there moved Within his heart a force unknown before, That swept his being from that early faith Across a sea, and cast it on the shore Prone at my feet. He minded not if death Came, so he could but gaze upon my face.