Iowa state bystander. [volume] (Des Moines, Iowa) 1894-1916, 1895-07-05


stand facing one another, while many
moments pass. Then he lays his hand
gently on her arms and draws her
away down the grassy pathway. The
whole length Of the alley they pace,
her heart throbbing wildly; then Ms
they turn again he breaks the silence.
Far away in Italy, as l lay dream
ing OF the words which / would write
some day, there came to me the words
written, the song of some unknown
singer" The voice of the man is
strangely restrained; the eyes of the
woman are soft with tears. II have
come back to my work in the fever
OF the city he continues, "the poetry
which is swelling in my soul will be
none the sicklier fer being brought
forth under gloomy skies"
The gray-haired nan in his study
bids the younger man God speed"
and the woman's heart is full of glad
ness; yet she knows that though she
has gained her desire, though there is
fire of life in the eyes Of the man and
enthusiasm in his heart, he is as far
from her as in the old days of his
dreams.
So the man leaves the woman again
and passes through the golden-drop-
ping labnrnums to his work in the
outer world.
I.aburnum time has come and gone
again and yet again. Messages have
gone ont from the house to the world,
and whispers and echoes of the rush
and turmoil have futtered back
through the golden pathway And the
woman still lives and hopes.
Then to her one day came weary
footsteps, but the soft turf MULES
their sound and she does not hear
them. Then voice says quietly. All
geIa," and little cry of yearning is
surprised from her. 1t is the man,
strong and brave, but weary. who
stands there smiling back at her Won
derment.
II have come back to rest awhile"
he says.
And the woman gives him welcome.
"Tbere is no such place in the whole
world" he signs contentedly.
SIS it well with your work." the
woman queries.
''My work is pleasant to me- the
man returns. II have grown to care
for it,
"And your poetry your dreams of
fame?" she asks.
"They are dead replies the man.
The woman shivers with her sympa.
thy.
do not pity me-" says the man.
THAT unknown singer who sent her
song to me in Italy has won the fame.
She has sent her messages to me
again, and there is nothing more for
me to write. only want to see her."
Over the woman's face spreads a
wonderful blush, but the man is look
ing upward at the golden blossoms.
''You know the singer is a woman?"
81 always think of her as such"
laughs the man.
why do you not go to herr asks
the woman, paSsionately.
sShe shrouds her name in mystery"
replies the man.
"What were those-words- which
first reused you--to your work" falt-
ers the woman. 81 may have read
them"
1.-The gong which came to me in
italy, and stirred me from my silly
dreams was From a Colder Path
way since then have come many
until | feel that / know the writer.
gela, my dear-tears! Do you know
the poem? Have you read it,"
Without a word the woman rises
from the seat, and taking the hand of
the man, she leads him to the old
laburnum On the dark trunk the
childish letters are still to be seen.
angela did it," all warped and rugged
with time, and the woman lays her
finger on the words.
Then through the heart of the man
| trembles great shock of awakening,
and a wondrous tenderness steals into
his eyes. angela did it," he MUIR
mers; then there is silence.
II have had my fond conceits," says
the man, at length, "but ! knew
should love the singer when found
her. Then he takes the white hand
! from the tree, and, STOPPING, kisses the
| woman's lips.
| Laburnums in the moonlight are
| very fair to see, and the grassy path
| way is as a floor of white, quiyering
mosaic as the man and woman pass
| downward to the home.
But your poems,' pleads the wom-
an; you will write them some day.?
"You hare written all that would
say answers the man. Il made an
error am no poet--I am but an
appreciation
And on the face of the man and on
that of the woman, there lie JOY and
| q great content. Black and White.
| (