Poems (Sharpless)/Idealine

by Frances M. Sharpless

IDEALINE

    Oh! I left her where I found her,
    With her maiden glory round her,
Like white incense from the heavens, falling on her as she stood.
    And if I had power to charm her
    It would only be to harm her;
So I turned away with careless feet and left her in the wood.

    Yes, I turned, no look betraying,
    And no word of passion saying,
Aught of what was surging wildly, wildly in my heaving breast;
    And my eyes were veiled from telling
    Thoughts and dreams too highly swelling—
They could give no joy unto her—they would break her peaceful rest.

    Oh! my heart it clingeth to her,
    And it rich love bringeth to her,
But another claims my duty,—and my love can yield no peace,—
    So I left the pure-eyed maiden,
    With a spirit heavy laden,
Where the yearning shall be sated only when the life shall cease.

    Were my spirit grown colder,
    Often might my eyes behold her,—
And rejoice upon a beauty fairer than the flowers of spring;—
    But my pulses bound to meet her,
    And my eye is quick to greet her
With the tender love—rich language that the amorous poets sing.

    So I turned aside, unheeding
    Her sad lips and eyes' mute pleading,—
For her heart turned still unto me and she knew not why 'twas so.
    And I stifled into dying,
    Wishes that were loudly crying
In my spirit, "Love her, love her, let the frowning future go."

    Wild the autumn wind was blowing,
    As I turned from her in going;
Like the wail of anguished angels heard I it in my despair.
    And my heart was well-nigh broken,
    Yet no tale-tale word was spoken,—
I have left her, fled and left her, my too sweet temptation, there.

    Now all holy angels guard her,
    And a better love reward her
Than I ever could have given,—I so wild and strange of mood.
    Yet my life's light gathers round her
    As she stands where erst I found her,
All amazed and sorrow-stricken, in the lonely beechen wood.