Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
Constance
By William Winter (18361917)W
’Twas in the spring and gentlest weather,—
And all the birds of morning met,
And carolled in her heart together.
And softly kissed the joyous ocean:
He walked beside her on the sand,
And gave and won a heart’s devotion.
With birds of passage homeward flying;
His fortune lured him o’er the seas,
And on the shore he left her, sighing.
Through tears and fears she could not banish;
She saw his white sails melt away—
She saw them fade, she saw them vanish.
And love and blessing round you hover;
When you sail backward through the air,
Then I will trust the word of lover.”
Now chilled with snows, now bright with roses,
And many smiles were turned to tears,
And sombre morns to radiant closes.
With many a golden promise freighted;
But nevermore from sea or sky
Came love, to bless her heart that waited.
Her sacred footsteps walked, unbidden,
Wherever sorrow bowed its head,
Or want, and care, and shame were hidden.
And dark, sad eyes, so deep with feeling,
Breathed all at once the chancel air,
And seemed to hear the organ pealing.
In marble chill she paused and hearkened,
With startled gaze where far away
The wastes of sky and ocean darkened.
High up in air, and landward striving,
Stern-fore a spectral barque came on,
Across the purple sunset driving.
Some whisper heard, from heaven descended,
And peacefully, as falls the dew,
Her long and lonely vigil ended.
Make glad the grass that dreams above her;
And, freed from time and all its woes,
She trusts again the word of lover.