Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/A Tragedy in Western Woods
A TRAGEDY IN WESTERN WOODS.[WOMAN SPEAKS.]
Why, we are willing, friend, to end with death; Death to begin with is another thing.Too bitter is it not to keep our breath Until its best from this brave world we wring.
Confronting dew and briar-rose, pitiless sun, And bird that sang not knowing, on her breastA bud unwithered, damp with blood, lay one Who dreamed of life, perhaps—and knew the rest.
The girl's shy lover, through weird-whispering trees Walked eagerly, perhaps an instant late:(That day of all days, feverish to please!)— He started, stared, and fell against the gate.
Blossom and blush he came to find. He found Only the dead—who left an empty earth.———But, sir, a ploughman's heart can hold a wound As deep as if he cared for books or birth.
With tears unfallen, from out the murmurous crowd A woman trembled, who was sad and grey.Lifting the maid, she dressed her in her shroud, And watched her in a long, still, wordless way.
"That boy?" one moaned; "why, that could never be." Another said: "He owns what he has done."She was a widow. As they muttered she Looked from the door—and saw her only son!
. . . Ah, baby laugh and dimple, baby kiss And wandering baby hands, that take one's heartTo play with—or let drop and break! Was this The end, poor mother, of a mother's part?
We cry for help. God has the heavens to hold. Can He let fall the stars, to take us upAnd comfort us? He lets our lips grow cold— And that is much—after we drink the cup.
And she who saw men lead away that youth (The childish gold scarce blown from off his hair,More evil for his beauty's sake) in truth Saw no more sorrow, surely, anywhere!
If light come ever to the void in eyes That, having seen such woe, shut, and are sealed,It is the utter light of Paradise, Whereby no thing not fair shall be revealed.