Poems (Odom)/A Wife's Valentine
A WIFE'S VALENTINE.
TO MY HUSBAND, D. M'CALEB.
My husband, my idol, my far-away king,The dearest, best half of myself, I would bringSweet thoughts of our love, fragrant, holy, and bright,To thrill through your heart on Saint Valentine's night.The thunder is rolling athwart a black sky,No star-gleam is seen in the darkness on high;The rain pours in torrents, the wind moans aroundThe eaves of the house, with a desolate sound.And the heart in my bosom is freighted with tears,While thinking, my love, of our earlier years.
I sit all alone in the glow of the fire;The breath of the past, lightly touches my lyre,And over it softly a memory flingsThat thrills into music the long silent strings. I listen, and fancy again I can seeThe deep shaded woods and the old beechen tree,With its emerald arms stretching up to the sky,Spreading out o'er the brook that goes murmuring by.As though it were singing the pebbles to restThat are lying so white in its crystalline breast.
I love the old tree, and the wood, and the streamSo hallowed and sacred to love's early dream,Upon the smooth bark a sweet record you tracedThat Time's busy fingers have never effaced—Your name and my own with the date of the yearEach letter remains there distinctly and clear.Friends smiled at the plighting of children, but weHave kept the vows made by the old beechen tree.Years later, I stood there again at your side,And watched you engraving the name of your bride.You said with a smile, as you gave me a kiss:"The old name is not half so pretty as this."
Looking back through the evergreen vista of yearsHow vividly each recollection appears; Tinted over with happiness, softly the glow,Pure pearls in the heart of the long, long-ago.Our childhood—how closely beside me it stands,How firmly the past and the present clasp hands,As memory's pencil is sketching the scene;Thought bridges the years that are lying between.But over the picture a shadow is thrown,That mars its wild beauty—I sit here alone.As one stricken suddenly blind craves the light,My very soul longs for your presence to-night.To lay my head down on your breast as of old,And feel close around me your loving arms fold—Just now, I would give many years of my lifeTo hear your voice whisper: "My darling, my wife."
The little ones kneeling to-night at my knee,Asked God up in heaven that papa might beKept safe from all harm in his far-away home,And that soon, very soon, he would bid us to come.My forehead was bowed on our boy's shining hair,When I lifted my brow there were tears lying there;They come to my lashes whenever I prayFor you, my dear husband, so far, far away. Then sweet childish lips kissed good-night to mamma,Repeating the loving caress for papa.In calm, quiet slumber, warm, rosy and bright,Two little heads lie on our pillow to-night.The boy's coral lips, parted over white pearls,His breath stirring softly his sister's bright curls,That cluster in tiny, moist rings on her brow;Her white dimpled hands are tossed over them now,And clasped are the fingers so waxen and fair,Like lily leaves pressed in the gold of her hair.
A fair, lovely picture, in colors, divine,Whose framework, my darling, is your heart and mind.Thank God! for these bright, rosy children of ours,They breathe over life the soft fragrance of flowers,Embalming the pathway that leads up to God,The sweet holy ground the Redeemer hath trod.My dearest, the hour of midnight has passed,The plaint of the wind has grown quiet at last—Good-night! and with kisses I cover each line,My lover, my husband, my true Valentine.