Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
OutgrownJulia C. R. Dorr (18251913)
N
One can read the whole matter, translating her heart by the light of one’s own.
And you know we were children together, have quarrelled and “made up” in play.
As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I might in our earlier youth.
Face to face, heart to heart, never dreaming your souls could be parted again.
And it is not her fault, I repeat it, that she does not love you to-day.
And hers has been steadily soaring—but how has it been with your own?
The stars are not farther above you in yon luminous atmosphere!
Has learned that the first of our duties to God and ourselves is to grow.
Her voice has a tenderer cadence, but is pure as a silver bell.
The white robes she wears are less white than the spirits with whom she has walked.
Have you looked upon evil unsullied? Have you conquered it undismayed?
Did you meet her this morning rejoicing in the triumph of victory won?
Was the hand that you gave her as white and clean as that of her womanhood?
Then ask, if you need, why she tells you that the love of her girlhood is dead.
He must stand by her side, or above her, who would kindle its holy fires.
As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I might in our earlier youth.