Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Alexander Smith 182967To
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And I lay at thy feet;
You bent above me; in the silence I
Could hear my wild heart beat.
At what my words would bring:
You rais’d your face, your eyes were full of tears,
As the sweet eyes of Spring.
Upon the shadowy sod.
Oh, fool, I lov’d thee! lov’d thee, lovely cheat!
Better than Fame or God.
What then to me were groans,
Or pain, or death? Earth was a round of bliss,
I seem’d to walk on thrones.
’Mid Trade’s tumultuous jars;
And where to awe-struck wilds the Night reveals
Her hollow gulfs of stars.
I ’ve knelt ’mong dew-soak’d flowers,
While distant music-bells, with voices fine,
Measur’d the midnight hours.
You wept, and never spoke,
But clung around me as the woodbine frail
Clings, pleading, round an oak.
And flung thee from myself;
I spurn’d thy love as ’t were a rich man’s dole,—
It was my only wealth.
That hop’d to call thee “wife,”
And bear thee, gently-smiling at my side,
Through all the shocks of life!
Thy vows, thy passionate breath;
I ’ll meet thee not in Life, nor in the spheres
Made visible by Death.