Читать книгу Armazindy - James Whitcomb Riley - Страница 8

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If I might see his face to-day!—

He is so happy now!—To hear

His laugh is like a roundelay—

So ringing-sweet and clear!

His step—I heard it long before

He bounded through the open door

To tell his marriage.—Ah! so kind—

So good he is!—And I—so blind!

But thus he always came to me—

Me, first of all, he used to bring

His sorrow to—his ecstasy—

His hopes and everything;

And if I joyed with him or wept,

It was not long the music slept,—

And if he sung, or if I played—

Or both,—we were the braver made.

I grew to know and understand

His every word at every call,—

The gate-latch hinted, and his hand

In mine confessed it all:

He need not speak one word to me—

He need not sigh—I need not see,—

But just the one touch of his palm,

And I would answer—song or psalm.

He wanted recognition—name—

He hungered so for higher things,—

The altitudes of power and fame,

And all that fortune brings:

Till, with his great heart fevered thus,

And aching as impetuous,

I almost wished sometimes that he

Were blind and patient made, like me.

But he has won!—I knew he would.—

Once in the mighty Eastern mart,

I knew his music only could

Be sung in every heart!

And when he proudly sent me this

From out the great metropolis,

I bent above the graven score

And, weeping, kissed it o’er and o’er.—

And yet not blither sing the birds

Than this glad melody,—the tune

As sweetly wedded with the words

As flowers with middle-June;

Had he not told me, I had known

It was composed of love alone—

His love for her.—And she can see

His happy face eternally!—

While I—O God, forgive, I pray!—

Forgive me that I did so long

To look upon his face to-day!—

I know the wish was wrong.—

Yea, I am thankful that my sight

Is shielded safe from such delight:—

I can pray better, with this blur

Of blindness—both for him and her.