Poems (Proctor)/A Truant from Eden

by Edna Dean Proctor

A TRUANT FROM EDEN.

In a mazy, sunlit garden,
Where was neither watch nor warden,
But the butterflies and bees
Rifling the laburnum-trees;
Where lilies pale and purple phlox
Bent above the bordering box,
And clustering pinks and crimson roses
Made fragrant even the orchard closes—
There one blissful hour I strayed
With the boy they said was laid
Forever 'neath the yew-tree's shade—
Harold, with his summers seven!
The tower-clock was chiming eleven
As I saw him down the stair,
With his blue eyes, and chestnut hair
Backward from his forehead blown
By the wind, that made such moan
When we lost him, ('t was a day
In 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 part
You 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 head
Bright 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 me
That still my lonely days glide on—
I know not how, but he was gone!
Unseen, had vanished utterly!
Viewless as evening zephyrs pass
That 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!