A Leave-Taking
Tags: Poem, Poetry, Poetry On Medium, Love, Sadness

Well I remember it, that night in May,

That last, sweet night in the Old World long ago,

The last ere my departure — the dark room

That brooded ’round us, and the drowsy breath,

Out of the courtyard, of the linden-trees,

Pungent and sad. Only your hand I felt,

Reached to me in the darkness; and the beat

All through its fingers of the unconscious blood,

Your life at battle, in the silence told

Immortally to mine its plaintive tale

And doom eternal — only your hand I felt,

Reached to me in the darkness — yet it seemed

In your hand’s touch I touched your very self,

Your very presence, changeable, careless, wild —

But O how poignant — sharp with all delight,

And gracious with dear bounties to bestow,

How greatly granted! Drowsily then at last,

In the old way, you begged me for some legend

Out of my boyhood’s record, some romance

From the far world that bore me; and my voice,

In the sweet, alien tongue, your mother-tongue,

Moved through the darkness with a peace unfeigned —

For a grave peace was on us, and the fear

That thrilled the midnight, fell away. The street

Slumbered, save where, departing, like a ghost’s,

Faint footfalls down the farthest distance sighed;

And dwindled out forever…. So you slept.

Well I remember it, that night in May —

The sleep, the hushed awakenings, full of dread,

From haunted meres of horror and disdain,

From dreams of terror — and the mad return

Into the bounteous pity of two arms,

The comfort and the kindness. O the return

Forever and forever, wild and sad,

Seraphic with all weariness and pain,

Insatiate with all love — as if to slake

In one abandon all the desperate drought

Of the years to come! Upon my own I felt

The wet, salt quivering of your lips, and all

Your being fold me in, urgent to save,

Urgent to hide the approaching loneliness,

Our bitter portion; prismed in tears, the dusk

Swam ’round with dizzy color: the nightingales,

Beauty’s disdain above the war of things,

Beauty’s high pity from her virgin heights,

Our meeting hearts pierced with a single pang —

Like a bright sword of sorrow through the breast

Driven, and like a bruising sword withdrawn.

The sun arose —

Fled were the nightingales, the love, the joy —

And with him rose at last the relentless fear,

Like a harsh face never to be pushed back,

Between your face and mine; till all the terror,

The loneliness, the irrevocable fate,

In the dim twilight hugged me, and a cry,

Up from my self to your self, would have rent

My hesitant lips, in the great need, to you

Turned for the last compassion…. But you slept.

At peace you lay. Over you in the dawn

I leaned, and knew you truly what you were.

Then a great love

Triumphing over sorrow, like the light

Clearing the west when sunset’s wrath has waned

Before the risen stars — a mystery — welled

Up through me radiant, helpless where you lay

In the calm pose of sleep: and above Time,

Our little passion, and the circumstance

Of temporal tumult, self to self we met;

And sundered reverent…. Faintest breath of flowers

Stirred in the twilight fragrantly, and there

The pathos of our days together filled me

With a new wonder — flooding on me came

A host of memories, as to one long dead,

Lifted beyond his living; till all seemed

Marvellous and immortal and benign.

And now

The hour was come. Beside your quiet breast

I begged forgiveness for my many sins

Done to you, though unwitting — all the hurt —

In a swift prayer, and even for this last —

To wake you to your sorrow. And your lips

Forgave me — yes, in the silence. So I touched

Your lids with kisses. And you woke, and wept.

But brave to the end with a heart-breaking bravery —

Gallant and gracious, dear with sacred eyes,

You let me go. With a half-kiss we parted.