Present

A meadow where the grass was deep,Rich, square, and golden to the view,A belt of elms with level sweepAbout it grew.

The sun beat down on it, the lineOf shade was clear beneath the trees;There, by a clustering eglantine,We sat at ease.

And O the buttercups! that fieldO' the cloth of gold, where pennons swam--Where France set up his lilied shield,His oriflamb,

And Henry's lion-standard rolled:What was it to their matchless sheen,Their million million drops of goldAmong the green!

We sat at ease in peaceful trust,For he had written, "Let us meet;My wife grew tired of smoke and dust,And London heat,

"And I have found a quiet grange,Set back in meadows sloping west,And there our little ones can rangeAnd she can rest.

"Come down, that we may show the view,And she may hear your voice again,And talk her woman's talk with youAlong the lane."

Since he had drawn with listless handThe letter, six long years had fled,And winds had blown about the sand,And they were wed.

Two rosy urchins near him played,Or watched, entranced, the shapely shipsThat with his knife for them he madeOf elder slips.

And where the flowers were thickest shed,Each blossom like a burnished gem,A creeping baby reared its head,And cooed at them.

And calm was on the father's face,And love was in the mother's eyes;She looked and listened from her place,In tender wise.

She did not need to raise her voiceThat they might hear, she sat so nigh;Yet we could speak when 'twas our choice,And soft reply.

Holding our quiet talk apartOf household things; till, all unsealed,The guarded outworks of the heartBegan to yield;

And much that prudence will not dipThe pen to fix and send away,Passed safely over from the lipThat summer day.

"I should be happy," with a lookTowards her husband where he lay,Lost in the pages of his book,Soft did she say.

"I am, and yet no lot belowFor one whole day eludeth care;To marriage all the stories flow,And finish there:

"As if with marriage came the end,The entrance into settled rest,The calm to which love's tossings tend,The quiet breast.

"For me love played the low preludes,Yet life began but with the ring,Such infinite solicitudesAround it cling.

"I did not for my heart divineHer destiny so meek to grow;The higher nature matched with mineWill have it so.

"Still I consider it, and stillAcknowledge it my master made,Above me by the steadier willOf nought afraid.

"Above me by the candid speech;The temperate judgment of its own;The keener thoughts that grasp and reachAt things unknown.

"But I look up and he looks down,And thus our married eyes can meet;Unclouded his, and clear of frown,And gravely sweet.

"And yet, O good, O wise and true!I would for all my fealty,That I could be as much to youAs you to me;

"And knew the deep secure contentOf wives who have been hardly won,And, long petitioned, gave assent,Jealous of none.

"But proudly sure in all the earthNo other in that homage shares,Nor other woman's face or worthIs prized as theirs."

I said: "And yet no lot belowFor one whole day eludeth care.Your thought." She answered, "Even so.I would beware

"Regretful questionings; be sureThat very seldom do they rise,Nor for myself do I endure--I sympathize.

"For once"--she turned away her head,Across the grass she swept her hand--"There was a letter once," she said,"Upon the sand."

"There was, in truth, a letter writOn sand," I said, "and swept from view;But that same hand which fashioned itIs given to you.

"Efface the letter; wherefore keepAn image which the sands forego?""Albeit that fear had seemed to sleep,"She answered low,

"I could not choose but wake it now;For do but turn aside your face,A house on yonder hilly browYour eyes may trace.

"The chestnut shelters it; ah me,That I should have so faint a heart!But yester-eve, as by the seaI sat apart,

"I heard a name, I saw a handOf passing stranger point that way--And will he meet her on the strand,When late we stray?

"For she is come, for she is there,I heard it in the dusk, and heardAdmiring words, that named her fair,But little stirred

"By beauty of the wood and wave,And weary of an old man's sway;For it was sweeter to enslaveThan to obey."

--The voice of one that near us stood,The rustle of a silken fold,A scent of eastern sandal wood,A gleam of gold!

A lady! In the narrow spaceBetween the husband and the wife,But nearest him--she showed a faceWith dangers rife;

A subtle smile that dimpling fled,As night-black lashes rose and fell:I looked, and to myself I said,"The letter L."

He, too, looked up, and with arrestOf breath and motion held his gaze,Nor cared to hide within his breastHis deep amaze;

Nor spoke till on her near advanceHis dark cheek flushed a ruddier hue;And with his change of countenanceHers altered too.

"Lenore!" his voice was like the cryOf one entreating; and he saidBut that--then paused with such a sighAs mourns the dead.

And seated near, with no demurOf bashful doubt she silence broke,Though I alone could answer herWhen first she spoke.

She looked: her eyes were beauty's own;She shed their sweetness into his;Nor spared the married wife one moanThat bitterest is.

She spoke, and lo, her lovelinessMethought she damaged with her tongue;And every sentence made it less,All falsely rung.

The rallying voice, the light demand,Half flippant, half unsatisfied;The vanity sincere and bland--The answers wide.

And now her talk was of the East,And next her talk was of the sea;"And has the love for it increasedYou shared with me?"

He answered not, but grave and stillWith earnest eyes her face perused,And locked his lips with steady will,As one that mused--

That mused and wondered. Why his gazeShould dwell on her, methought, was plain;But reason that should wonder raiseI sought in vain.

And near and near the children drew,Attracted by her rich array,And gems that trembling into viewLike raindrops lay.

He spoke: the wife her baby tookAnd pressed the little face to hers;What pain soe'er her bosom shook,What jealous stirs

Might stab her heart, she hid them so,The cooing babe a veil supplied;And if she listened none might know,Or if she sighed;

Or if forecasting grief and careUnconscious solace thence she drew,And lulled her babe, and unawareLulled sorrow too.

The lady, she interpreterFor looks or language wanted none,If yet dominion stayed with her--So lightly won;

If yet the heart she wounded soreCould yearn to her, and let her seeThe homage that was evermoreDisloyalty;

If sign would yield that it had bled,Or rallied from the faithless blow,Or sick or sullen stooped to wed,She craved to know.

Now dreamy deep, now sweetly keen,Her asking eyes would round him shine;But guarded lips and settled mienRefused the sign.

And unbeguiled and unbetrayed,The wonder yet within his breast,It seemed a watchful part he playedAgainst her quest.

Until with accent of regretShe touched upon the past once more,As if she dared him to forgetHis dream of yore.

And words of little weight let fallThe fancy of the lower mind;How waxing life must needs leave allIts best behind;

How he had said that "he would fain(One morning on the halcyon sea)That life would at a stand remainEternally;

"And sails be mirrored in the deep,As then they were, for evermore,And happy spirits wake and sleepAfar from shore:

"The well-contented heart be fedEver as then, and all the world(It were not small) unshadowèdWhen sails were furled.

"Your words"--a pause, and quietlyWith touch of calm self-ridicule:"It may be so--for then," said he,"I was a fool."

With that he took his book, and leftAn awkward silence to my care,That soon I filled with questions deftAnd debonair;

And slid into an easy vein,The favorite picture of the year;The grouse upon her lord's domain--The salmon weir;

Till she could fain a sudden thoughtUpon neglected guests, and rise,And make us her adieux, with noughtIn her dark eyes

Acknowledging or shame or pain;But just unveiling for our viewA little smile of still disdainAs she withdrew.

Then nearer did the sunshine creep,And warmer came the wafting breeze;The little babe was fast asleepOn mother's knees.

Fair was the face that o'er it leant,The cheeks with beauteous blushes dyed;The downcast lashes, shyly bent,That failed to hide

Some tender shame. She did not see;She felt his eyes that would not stir,She looked upon her babe, and heSo looked at her.

So grave, so wondering, so content,As one new waked to conscious life,Whose sudden joy with fear is blent,He said, "My wife."

"My wife, how beautiful you are!"Then closer at her side reclined,"The bold brown woman from afarComes, to me blind.

"And by comparison, I seeThe majesty of matron grace,And learn how pure, how fair can beMy own wife's face:

"Pure with all faithful passion, fairWith tender smiles that come and go,And comforting as April airAfter the snow.

"Fool that I was! my spirit fretsAnd marvels at the humbling truth,That I have deigned to spend regretsOn my bruised youth.

"Its idol mocked thee, seated nigh,And shamed me for the mad mistake;I thank my God he could deny,And she forsake.

"Ah, who am I, that God hath savedMe from the doom I did desire,And crossed the lot myself had craved,To set me higher?

"What have I done that He should bowFrom heaven to choose a wife for me?And what deserved, He should endowMy home with THEE?

"My wife!" With that she turned her faceTo kiss the hand about her neck;And I went down and sought the placeWhere leaped the beck--

The busy beck, that still would runAnd fall, and falter its refrain;And pause and shimmer in the sun,And fall again.

It led me to the sandy shore,We sang together, it and I--"The daylight comes, the dark is o'er,The shadows fly."

I lost it on the sandy shore,"O wife!" its latest murmurs fell,"O wife, be glad, and fear no moreThe letter L."