John Reade (1837–1919)

IN my heart are many chambers through which I wander free;

Some are furnished, some are empty, some are sombre, some are light;

Some are open to all comers, of some I keep the key;

And I enter in the stillness of the night.

But there ’s one I never enter—it is closed to even me!

Only once its door was opened, and it shut for evermore;

And though sounds of many voices gather round it like a sea,

It is silent, ever silent, as the shore.

In that chamber, long ago, my love’s casket was concealed,

And the jewel that it sheltered I knew only one could win;

And my soul foreboded sorrow, should that jewel be revealed,

And I almost hoped that none might enter in.

Yet day and night I lingered by that fatal chamber door,

Till she came at last, my darling one, of all the earth my own;

And she entered—then she vanished with my jewel which she wore;

And the door was closed—and I was left alone.

She gave me back no jewel, but the spirit of her eyes

Shone with tenderness a moment, as she closed that chamber door,

And the memory of that moment is all I have to prize—

But that, at least, is mine for evermore.

Was she conscious, when she took it, that the jewel was my love?

Did she think it but a bauble she might wear or toss aside?

I know not, I accuse not, but I hope that it may prove

A blessing, though she spurn it in her pride.