Poems (Chitwood)/Eva

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

EVA.

Bloom brightly, fair flowers
 Around the white stone,
Where sleepeth my Eva,
 My loved and my own,
Who hath gone from this world,
 And left me alone.

Oh! she was the idol
 Of life's early day;
But, fearing the censure
 That worldlings might say,
Pride tore my weak heart
 From sweet Eva away.

Her home was a cottage,
 All lowly, but fair,
While mine was a castle,
 High tow'ring in air:
This forced me from Eva,
 The gentle and fair

She died—it were better
 Than living apart;
She died, and the sunlight
 Went out from my heart;
She died, and the world
 Can no pleasure impart.

A voice is within me,
 It speaketh aloud,
"Her pure heart you blighted—
 You fashioned her shroud;
It is meet you should go
 With your heart crushed and bowed."

And over the wide world,
 Wherever I go,
A shadow pursues me,
 And darkly doth throw
A gloom o'er my heart,
 Deep throbbing with woe.

And conscience reproveth—
 In beauty's fair throng,
At morning, at evening,
 Ay, all the day long,
It whispers and whispers
 The tale of her wrong.

Oh! sweet is her slumber
 All quiet her rest,
And closed are her dark eyes,
 And hushed is her breast:
Sleep, sleep on, lost Eva,
 My dearest and best.

Last night, in my dreaming,
 We met as of yore;
Thine arms were around me,
 And, beating once more
To my own, was the pure heart,
 Whose throbbings are o'er.

Then changed grew the vision;
 Thy brow beamed with light,
Thine eyes looked reproachfully,
 Tearful and bright
Into mine, and thy shroud folds
 Were rustling and white.

Sweet Eva, lost Eva,
 My loved and my own,
Hast thou gone from this dark world,
 And left me alone,
With a stain on my heart
 That the world can't atone?

The plighted faith broken,
 All loudly it cries,
And vows I have spoken
 Before me arise,
And my heart is kept writhing
 While these meet my eyes.

O Eva! lost Eva!
 The thought of thy wrong,
It haunts me, it haunts me
 On life's way along;
My soul how it wrestleth,
 It can not be strong.

In dreaming, in waking,
 Is still by my side
The image death's river
 Has failed to divide
From my heart's adoration,
 My fair promised bride.

Bloom sweetly, fair flowers,
 Around the white stone
Where sleepeth my Eva,
 My worshiped, my own,
Who hath gone from this world
 And left me alone.