104
ANGELIQUE
Banded their warmth against a long, long snow.
When the last leaf sank, and the maple-tree was bare,
And never a thrush remained upon the bough,
Worn Angelique, grown desolate of hope,
Nursing a dream of cradleboard to come
And fearful of the thrust of village eyes,
Withdrew herself; secluded in a nook—
A cabin dark with rambling tanglewood—
Safe from the hiss and venom of village talk
That glided, snake-like, on her heels when she
Went forth in day, she gave herself to dreams,
Visions of loveliness to come, to-morrow. . . .
When the last leaf sank, and the maple-tree was bare,
And never a thrush remained upon the bough,
Worn Angelique, grown desolate of hope,
Nursing a dream of cradleboard to come
And fearful of the thrust of village eyes,
Withdrew herself; secluded in a nook—
A cabin dark with rambling tanglewood—
Safe from the hiss and venom of village talk
That glided, snake-like, on her heels when she
Went forth in day, she gave herself to dreams,
Visions of loveliness to come, to-morrow. . . .
In St. Hilaire old Angelique abides,
Harried and bruised, a windfall for the world,
As any fallen fruit upon the ground,
Broken and pocked by the bills of many birds,
Under the foot of every passing woman,
Under the foot of every passing man.
In St. Hilaire the crone drags out her moons,
Companioned by the slender souvenir
Of a high sweet moment of romance, a seedling
Sprung from a dream gone into yesterday.
Oh, he is beautiful in the blue of moonlight.
Harried and bruised, a windfall for the world,
As any fallen fruit upon the ground,
Broken and pocked by the bills of many birds,
Under the foot of every passing woman,
Under the foot of every passing man.
In St. Hilaire the crone drags out her moons,
Companioned by the slender souvenir
Of a high sweet moment of romance, a seedling
Sprung from a dream gone into yesterday.
Oh, he is beautiful in the blue of moonlight.
