Thus it was for many
night-cloaked days.
Once
a time she bore to him trays
Laden
with fare and water that eased
All
his hurt. Not long it was that the wounds that seized
His
battered body slowly mended.
And
the fire kept, though to its flame she never tended.
Nor,
though her steps he saw and doings he heard,
Unto
him did she ever utter a word.
To
him her silence seemed wrought in pain,
As
though she knew of naught but that domain.
At
last he asked: ‘Why movest thou so, as one who sleeps,
Or
one who oft lonely sits and weeps?’
She
turned upon him silver eyes,
Like
starlight seen through clouded skies.
“The
answer to thy query I need not to show,
For
‘tis something thyself in truth doth know.
Why
went you and your company out at all?
Was
it not at the summoning and the call
Of
thy greedy hearts that, seeking praise,
Lost
thee in the wild as a fool that strays?
Thou
would have done well to keep thy house. But there!
There
lies all thy heart and all thy care.
Is
it not vain to rise and vain to sleep?
Vain
thy mind and body to keep?
Is
it not vain to name aught as foul or fair?
Is
it not vain to harbor a single care?
Life
to death, not life to life, is the way of all.
Are
not all these things in the end to thy gall?”
“But
what of life?” said he aghast.
“How
canst thou discount that which has not yet passed?
True,
all mortals are mortal indeed.
But
for this thou would loose thy bonds and be freed?
Death
cometh swiftly, but while it be at bay
Should
one not enjoy the sunrise of a dawning day?
Should
one not share in the joy of a song?
Or
even a smile to bear along?
Ah!
To know faithful comrades to see one through.
To
know love, blissed love, tried and true.”
Suddenly
he fell silent, and she was still.
For
a time naught stirred in that house on the hill
Save
the fire that flared and fanned.
Soft as a whisper she out-stretched her
hand,
Seeming
to wish his cheek to clasp.
But
when his palm found hers in soft caress a gasp
Escaped
her lips, and back she drew.
Within
her something stirred anew.
A
feeling slow yet overpowering wormed
It’s
way deeply, and there it burned.
Again
she rose and again she fled,
Again
left him lying upon the bed.
Still
more time passed, and more strength he gained.
And
he nurtured a new thought, and himself ordained
To
be a light within her darkened world.
Visions
new and sights that swirled
He
caused to dance before her silver eyes,
For
he spoke of all that under heaven lies.
Of
the Springtide sun that shone with glee,
And
of the white breakers of the boundless sea.
He
spoke of the glades of endless flowers,
And
mist of the valleys after gentle showers.
But
most of all he spoke of men, whose hearts
Were
not always so easily read as jottings in charts.
Yea,
there were those who would destroy without cease,
But
others there were also; seekers of peace.
“But
what availeth all this,” she said at last,
“If,
when all is spoken and done and passed,
Death
awaits like a clinging net?”
He
answered: “Death awaits, and none forget.
Life
is as a passing mist and dew.
Yet
all things in it may seem bright and new
If
hearts walk together to bear on and through.
If
instead of being lived by one, it is shared in love by two.”
To
this she made no reply.
The
day came at last, by and by,
That
his wounds and weariness was healed.
With
humbled heart at her feet he kneeled.
“Behold,”
he said, “here is thy due,
The
costly jewel that I swore to you.”
But
when she reached out to take his band
He
a-sudden clutched her pale hand,
And,
looking into her silver eyes, declared:
“Many
ways and many evils have I betimes fared,
And
I perceive my suffering has been small to thine.
Therefore,
do not shirk to accept this that was mine,
But
I beg thee to accept yet more.
But
for you I would have passed through death’s black door.
Little
and small my offering may seem for its part,
Though
it is the greatest thing I can give: My heart.”
She
gazed on him and indeed it seemed
That
in her eyes there boiled and steamed
A
fierce desire, but this time true.
She
looked on him with sight anew.
His
tender words, his warming soul,
Warm
as a glinting ember coal,
Had
reached down deep and taken hold
Had
wrought a wonder in her heart of cold.
Yet
the availing of this was due to him only in part,
This
wonder that worked within her heart.
The
fire that had burned e’er since he came,
The
glittering, fanning, dancing flame,
Had
wrought on her also. And slow as a coming tide,
Had
thawed the chill that lay inside.
Therefore,
she marveled at the warmth that spread in her,
The
coming of Spring to her forced Winter.
She
took in her grasp his trembling hand,
Pressing
thither his silver-golden band.
Then
she touched his cheek in unbridled embrace,
As
tears of delight bathed his shining face.
Now
fate is a thing most strange indeed,
For
it both caters to want and ignores need.
It
is kinder than joy, the master of bliss,
And
it is crueler than death’s blackened kiss.
Scarcely
had she caressed his cheek
Than
the support of his strengthened knees grew weak.
He
quivered once, then down he fell,
Lifeless
as a withered, hollow shell.
Death
had locked him in its hold
From
the instant he had touched her couch of cold.
And
even as she stared in silent grief
At
the man death had stolen as a thief,
She
felt within her a subtle pain,
And
her own strength began to wane.
A
moment later she lay at his side,
Lifeless
as the sand washed by the tide.
For
death was assured to her the moment he came
And
bid her rouse a warming flame.
For
the power to weather such things had been lost
To
she who had hemmed herself in with frost.
And
there they two lay for evermore,
Corpses
behind a frozen door.
For
none found them, and even now none know
Whither
lies that house, moon-cloaked with snow.
And
thusly runs this tale of woe,
A
story that a self-tortured heart did know,
When
she gave of her love long ago
On
an endless night of whiting glow.
Keep Strong!
