By Ruth Margaret
Muskrat
I.
My
heart is like an opal, flashing fire
And
flaming gleams of pointed light
At
thy approach; or lying cold and white
When
thou art gone; robbed of a dream's desire
Is
left moon-white and dull; no darting flame
Or
sapphire gleam to mark a sweet suspense.
But
only still, benumbed indifference
Unwaked
at thy soft whisper of my name.
Come
now, I tire of waiting to know love;
Teach
me to scorn indifference white and dim
For
I would drain fate's cup of joy or strife;
Would
play to the lost chord the vibrant hymn
That
passion sings; my heart lifted above
Dull
apathy; pulsating; knowing Life.
II.
A
Thousand, thousand years ago I lived
And
waited for your coming then, as now,
Before
the wailing waters taught me how
To
weep; nor never knew how sad I grieved,
Nor
with what empty pain my soul, bereaved
Through
need of you, lifted its throbbing brow;
Until
the softly whispered plighted vow,
Of
sighing trees, from branches silver-leaved
Swept
through my soul and waked me from my sleep.
Since
then I've roamed a thousand worlds, I think
Seeking
your face, too hungry souled to wait
For
you to come to me; too sad to weep:
While
chains of ages pass me, link by link;
Knowing
that I shall find you soon or late.
III.
What
is this nameless something that I want,
Forever
groping blindly, without light,--
A
ghost of pain that does forever haunt
My
days, and make my heart eternal night?
I
think it is your face I long for,
Your
eyes that read my soul at one warm glance;
Your
lips that I nay touch with mine no more
Have
left me in their stead a thrusting lance
Of
fire that burns my lips and sears my heart
As
all the dreary wanton years wear through
Their
hopeless dragging days.
No Lover's art
Can
lift full, heavy sorrow from my view
Or
still my restless longing, purge my hate,
Because
I learned I loved you, dear, too late.
IV.
Thou
canst not turn away, beloved, so
Completely
from my life; at thine own will
Withdraw
the fullness of thy love until
My
heart may no surcease of sorrow know
Through
loving thee.
The scarlet evening's glow
Long
after the Lord Sun[2]
has gone; the thrill
Of
his dear parting kiss must linger still
And
point that crimson blush that pulses so.
Think
you, beloved, after thou hast flung
Thy
purple rove of love so close around
My
life, that I could then forget? No wrong
So
great but that in loving thee I found
The
secret to redress; and sorrow's song
Is
sweet because you loved me long ago.