The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1877-02-28
ESTRANGED.

Some day she will come back, my poor lost
My Dove with the warm breast and eager
eyesl
How did it fall toward her. my passionate
Where was the fawg since fiawed it must have
Or surely She had staid with me, my Queen.
Her heart was full of inarticulate cries
Which my heart failed to catch; and yet she
To cleave to me. All, how she must have
Praying, perchance, ofttimes for strength from
heaven!
But no strength came; and so, one fatal day,
Despairing of all help, she went away
And there her half completed portrait stands
The fresh, young face, and gray eyes brimmed
painted her with flowers in her hands,
Because she always seemed so bright and
never thought the studios solitude
Would hurt her anyway. thought the sight
OF painted forms and unfamiliar lands
Would be enough for her. She was too mild,
Too patient with my painters life. Poor
Had she Complained at all, by look or tone,
Had she but said, 81 seem too much alone;
grow half fearful of these painted eyes
Haunt me and watch me; and these southern
skies
Reflected in deep streams: and that dark boat
From which girl with bare sweet breast and
throat
Droops willow-like, and dreams Of life and
love:
And that youths dying face, which never
dies:
And then, again, that picture of Christ there,
Christ fallen in an agony of prayer,
And His disciples near Him, stern and dumb.
Like men who know the fated hour is comes"
Had she said thus, and added, "Take me dear,
Outside of these sad faces; let me stand
Once more within LIES shadows, and there
Light laughter of the surf upon the beach,
For here the very sea is without speech,
So still il is. and far away from land;
wan, life's little joys; this atmosphere
Oppresses NE; l cannot breathe in it;
The light that lights your life leaves mine
1 shoufn have answered tenderIy, and sought
To carry OCT in all her slightest thought.
She knew loved her, through those Winter
Did il not comfort her at all, my love?
IL was such JOY 10 look upon ner face,
sar FOR hours, content to be quite still,
FesIing her warm bright beauty NIL
Ny soul and BRAIN; fearful lest she should
move,
And speat or go; but when she met my gaze
/ turned away; as if had done wrong
In looking on her loneliness so long.
rarely kissed her, rarely took her handi
And now, think, she did lot understand.
Perchance she thought my love was passion
less,
Wanted what withheld yet longed to give;
She did not know my silence cares
All passion was by reverence controlled
And so she deemed my ways of love were cold.
All me! the lonely life she had to live!
And L knew nothing of its loneliness.
Here nature quick to give and take,
A nature to be broken and TO break;
She loved cOnfiding valleys, sun kissed rills,
But saddened at the solemn peace Of hills.
All things had been so different had known
Her nature then as now; and yet, and yet,
If she cane in, as / sit here alone,
The April twilight failing through the room,
And all the pictures lapSing into gloom
Came in, knelt down, and prayed me to forget,
Forgive her, and reclaim her for my own,
/ should be glad, and draw her to my heart,
And kiss the rising tears away, and part
The sweet hair back, and fold her to my side,
Yet leave, per chance, the want unsatisfied.
But here she comes not. must wait and bear;
Live on, and serve my art as best may.
If / can catch the color of her hair
And the .neck's poise, and set beneath her
name,
Shall not her loneliness have deathless fame?
Now lights shine out along the London square.
o dreary place! where no joy comes at all.
There. must turn the easel to the WALL
cannot bear her face as veto Lovei
o, wounded of my hands! my wounded dovei
Phelps Bourke Marston in Harper's Maya
zine.