Poems (Procter)/Hearts
TRINKET made like a Heart, dear, Of red gold, bright and fineWas given to me for a keepsake, Given to me for mine.
HE Heart?—Yes,I wore it As sign and as tokenOf a love that once gave it, A vow that was spoken;But a love, and a vow, and a heart Can be broken.
OOK, this little golden Heart Was a true-love shrineFor a tress of hair; I held them, Heart and tress, as mine,Like the Love which gave the token:—See, to-day the Heart is broken!
HEARTS.
I.
TRINKET made like a Heart, dear, Of red gold, bright and fineWas given to me for a keepsake, Given to me for mine.And another heart, warm and tender, As true as a heart could be;And every throb that stirred it Was always and all for me.
Sailing over the waters, Watching the far blue land,I dropped my golden heart, dear, Dropped it out of my hand!
It lies in the cold, blue waters, Fathoms and fathoms deep,The golden heart which I promised, Promised to prize and keep.
Gazing at Life's bright visions, So false, and fair, and new,I forgot the other heart, dear, Forgot it and lost it too!
I might seek that heart forever, I might seek and seek in vain;—And for one short, careless hour, I pay with a life of pain
II.
HE Heart?—Yes,I wore it As sign and as tokenOf a love that once gave it, A vow that was spoken;But a love, and a vow, and a heart Can be broken.The Love?—Life and Death Are crushed into a day,So what wonder that Love Should as soon pass away,—What wonder I saw it Fade, fail, and decay?
The Vow?—why what was it? It snapped like a thread;Who cares for the corpse When the spirit is fled?Then I said, "Let the Dead rise And bury its dead,
"While the true, living future Grows pure, wise, and strong."So I cast the gold heart I had worn for so longIn the Lake, and bound on it A Stone—and a Wrong!
III.
OOK, this little golden Heart Was a true-love shrineFor a tress of hair; I held them, Heart and tress, as mine,Like the Love which gave the token:—See, to-day the Heart is broken!Broken is the golden heart, Lost the tress of hair;Ah, the shrine is empty, vacant, Desolate and bare!So the token should depart,When Love dies within the heart.
Fast and deep the river floweth, Floweth to the west;I will cast the golden trinket In its cold dark breast:—Flow, O river, deep and fast,Over all the buried past!