Читать книгу The Old Soldier's Story: Poems and Prose Sketches - Riley James Whitcomb - Страница 32

Whispering to themselves apart,

They who knew her said of her,

"Dying of a broken heart —

Death her only comforter —

For the man she loved is dead —

She will follow soon!" they said.

Beautiful? Ah! brush the dust

From Raphael's fairest face,

And restore it, as it must

First have smiled back from its place

On his easel as he leant

Wrapt in awe and wonderment!

Why, to kiss the very hem

Of the mourning-weeds she wore,

Like the winds that rustled them,

I had gone the round world o'er;

And to touch her hand I swear

All things dareless I would dare!

But unto themselves apart,

Whispering, they said of her,

"Dying of a broken heart —

Death her only comforter —

For the man she loved is dead —

She will follow soon!" they said.

So I mutely turned away,

Turned with sorrow and despair,

Yearning still from day to day

For that woman dying there,

Till at last, by longing led,

I returned to find her – dead?

"Dead?" – I know that word would tell

Rhyming there – but in this case

"Wed" rhymes equally as well

In the very selfsame place —

And, in fact, the latter word

Is the one she had preferred.

Yet unto themselves apart,

Whisp'ring they had said of her —

"Dying of a broken heart —

Death her only comforter —

For the man she loved is dead —

She will follow soon!" they said.