Her Shadow
OLD is the body of the tale; but, told anew,
Its fair elusive spirit floats from me to you;
Sandaled with silence, moving swift as spirits do,
And faint as that dead wind which woke, and slept, and blew
Our lives together, but to lash them straight apart —
My heart aware and torn, from your unconscious heart.
Its fair elusive spirit floats from me to you;
Sandaled with silence, moving swift as spirits do,
And faint as that dead wind which woke, and slept, and blew
Our lives together, but to lash them straight apart —
My heart aware and torn, from your unconscious heart.
CRIMEA
Never a scarlet cross then,
Protected the torment of men
(Shattered and bleeding, and rent).
Shots that had sped, and were spent,
Mowed them to curse and to cry;
Heaped them to writhe and to die.
Sweetest of women was she,
First of the mild ministry
Mercy of Heaven has sent
Into the hospital tent.
One, and a woman! — and when
There they groaned — thousands of men!
Hands that could, clutched at her dress.
Lips that could, parted to bless.
Dim eyes — all left that could stir —
Worshiping, called after her.
Protected the torment of men
(Shattered and bleeding, and rent).
Shots that had sped, and were spent,
Mowed them to curse and to cry;
Heaped them to writhe and to die.
Sweetest of women was she,
First of the mild ministry
Mercy of Heaven has sent
Into the hospital tent.
One, and a woman! — and when
There they groaned — thousands of men!
Hands that could, clutched at her dress.
Lips that could, parted to bless.
Dim eyes — all left that could stir —
Worshiping, called after her.
Gashed by the sight of that hell,
As flesh by the shot and the shell,
Spendthrift of mercy, she gave.
Men in the grip of the grave
Battled back death for awhile,
To carry away but her smile.
He went through a motherly land
Who passed with a hand in her hand.
His face was the peacefulest there,
Who died in the arms of her prayer.
As flesh by the shot and the shell,
Spendthrift of mercy, she gave.
Men in the grip of the grave
Battled back death for awhile,
To carry away but her smile.
He went through a motherly land
Who passed with a hand in her hand.
His face was the peacefulest there,
Who died in the arms of her prayer.
But slaughtered and tortured they lie.
By hundreds she passes them by,—
Gentle, and simple, and rough.
Of tenderness who has enough
When life converges to death ?
Paling, and broken of breath,
By hundreds she passes them by,—
Gentle, and simple, and rough.
Of tenderness who has enough
When life converges to death ?
Paling, and broken of breath,
They whom she never might reach —
Touch of her, sign of her, speech,
Aught of her — what did they then —
They, the denied of the men ?
Touch of her, sign of her, speech,
Aught of her — what did they then —
They, the denied of the men ?
Oh, dying lips have living power;
And all the world had missed
The echoing cry of that red hour: —
“Upon our pillows then we kissed
Her shadow as it fell.
She passed us by, and so we kissed
Her shadow where it fell.”
And all the world had missed
The echoing cry of that red hour: —
“Upon our pillows then we kissed
Her shadow as it fell.
She passed us by, and so we kissed
Her shadow where it fell.”
Dearest and lost! Of every dream the eidolon;
Of every memory sweetest that I think upon;
Monarch uncrowned upon my soul’s high, vacant throne;
Forever Queen of royal joys to me unknown!
One day I clasped your shadow as it passed me by.
And now, a warrior wounded and unhealed I lie;
Upon the empty pillow of my life I press
The shadow of a kiss. Trust in its sacredness.
Of every memory sweetest that I think upon;
Monarch uncrowned upon my soul’s high, vacant throne;
Forever Queen of royal joys to me unknown!
One day I clasped your shadow as it passed me by.
And now, a warrior wounded and unhealed I lie;
Upon the empty pillow of my life I press
The shadow of a kiss. Trust in its sacredness.