Poems (Proctor)/A Truant from Eden
A TRUANT FROM EDEN.
In a mazy, sunlit garden,Where was neither watch nor warden,But the butterflies and beesRifling the laburnum-trees;Where lilies pale and purple phloxBent above the bordering box,And clustering pinks and crimson rosesMade fragrant even the orchard closes—There one blissful hour I strayedWith the boy they said was laidForever 'neath the yew-tree's shade—Harold, with his summers seven!The tower-clock was chiming elevenAs I saw him down the stair,With his blue eyes, and chestnut hairBackward from his forehead blownBy the wind, that made such moanWhen we lost him, ('t was a dayIn dreary March he went away)But that now, in glad surprise,Breathed a strain of Paradise.
How I caught him to my heart!"Darling! naught again shall partYou and me, you and me!"Thrice he kissed me; then in glee, Down the winding path he sped,—So he was wont of old to play— I could see his shining headBright the darkling boughs between,As if a sunbeam glanced that way; While I followed where he led,Followed still, through gold and green,By grove and walk, his dancing feet;And as he ran, now fairy-fleet,Now from some gloom emerging slow, Still beckoning, still eluding me,His cheek outvied the rose's glow, His voice, the robin's minstrelsy.
And then, and then,—God pity meThat still my lonely days glide on—I know not how, but he was gone!Unseen, had vanished utterly!Viewless as evening zephyrs passThat softly sway the meadow grass;Silent as April sunlight goes,When a black cloud, relentless, throws Its shadow over lawn and tree!And calling, flying where he fled,I passed the lilies, drooping, dead,And, breathless, gained the vacant stair;— The sun shone wan as winter moon;A chill wind blew the rose-tree bare,Strewing its blossoms o'er the stone;And he was gone, and I alone, As sharp the clock rang out for noon!