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Woman's Love Letters

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<h2>Death.</h2> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> If days should pass without a written word To tell me of thy welfare, and if days Should lengthen out to weeks, until the maze Of questioning fears confused me, and I heard. Life-sounds as echoes; and one came and said After these weeks of waiting: "He is dead!" </div> <div class="stanza"> Though the quick sword had found the vital part, And the life-blood must mingle with the tears, I think that, as the dying soldier hears The cries of victory, and feels his heart [Pg 34] Surge with his country's triumph-hour, I could Hope bravely on, and feel that God was good. </div> <div class="stanza"> I could take up my thread of life again And weave my pattern though the colors were Faded forever. Though I might not dare Dream often of thee, I should know that when Death came to thee upon thy lips my name Lingered, and lingers ever without blame. </div> <div class="stanza"> Aye, lingers ever. Though we may not know Much that our spirits crave, yet is it given To us to feel that in the waiting Heaven Great souls are greater, and if God bestow A mighty love He will not let it die Through the vast ages of eternity. [Pg 35]</div> <div class="stanza"> But if some day the bitter knowledge swept Down on my life,—bearing my treasured freight To founder on the shoals of scorn,—what Fate Smiling with awful irony had kept Till life grew sweeter,—that my god was clay, That 'neath thy strength a lurking weakness lay; </div> <div class="stanza"> That thou, whom I had deemed a man of men Faulty, as great men are, but with no taint Of baseness,—with those faults that shew the saint Of after days, perhaps,—wert even then When first I loved thee but a spreading tree Whose leaves shewed not its roots' deformity; [Pg 36]</div> <div class="stanza"> I should not weep, for there are wounds that lie Too deep for tears,—and Death is but a friend Who loves too dearly, and the parting end Of Love's joy-day a paltry pain, a cry To God, then peace,—beside the torturing grief When honor dies, and trust, and soul's belief. </div> <div class="stanza"> Travellers have told that in the Java isles The upas-tree breathes its dread vapor out Into the air; there needs no hand about Its branches for the poison's deadly wiles To work a strong man's hurt, for there is death Envenomed, noisome, in his every breath. </div> <div class="stanza"> So would I breathe thy poison in my soul, Till all that had been wholesome, pure, and true Shewed its decay, and stained and wasted grew. [Pg 37] Though sundered as the distant Northern Pole From his far sister, I should bear thy blight Upon me as I passed into the night. </div> <div class="stanza"> Didst dream thy truth and honor meant so much To me, Dear Heart? Oh! I am full of tears To-night, of longing, love and foolish fears. Would I might see thee, know thy tender touch, For Time is long, and though I may not will To question Fate, I am a woman still. [Pg 38]</div> </div> <hr style="width: 35%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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