A Confession

" I SHOULD have known she never could be mine :
What was in me to hold a woman's love ?
She, in the bloom of her transcendent youth,
And I not even young and never fair.
Nor like some brave or brilliant in wit.
Yet I adored her — ah ! she trod upon
So many gay silk cloaks obeisant laid
'Neath her queen feet, 'twas condescension deep
For her to walk upon my garment worn.
How should she stay to ponder the gallants
Had much such raiment stored in cedarpresses
And lavish strewed for other feet than hers.
While this poor cloak I laid for her, this love
Of mine, it was my all, and all for her?
Yet, had I felt her shudder as she gave
Herself to me ! but sweet she seemed and bland
As ever — well I knew she could not love
As I loved her, I never looked for that —
So very little had contented me.
Attar of roses, — only a drop of it
Outperfumes floods of common essences.
But she averred — I see her sitting now
Broidering silk and gold in delicate kid
With dainty fingers, lifting, ah ! those eyes
Soft as horizons in the summer time,
Answering in that low sweet tone of hers —
That long her heart had been my own ; she feared
I cared not for her since I did not speak.
And I, who hardly dared to lift mine eyes,
But stammered shuffling awkwardly before her
Praying her leave me but a little hope.
Thus caught up unaware to paradise !
First I was stunned incredulous with joy,
And broke to foolish tears like some big child,
Shy touching her ; and then because she smiled
So placid, half amused I fancied, fear
She might be sporting with me struck me faint.
I said it, but she kissed away my doubt ;
And yet I felt a secret want, a chill.
Through all her kindness— nay, it must be so,
Ever I whispered to my yearning heart ;
She loves, even she, loves me, and only me.
I cannot fathom what she wanted now —
Oh could it be the paltry manor-house ?
Was she not sure I would have laid the whole,
All toil-worn earnings of my father's life
And mine, if she had hinted what she craved,
All at her feet ? Ah ! could it e'er behove.
Reaching for bubble vanities like these,
To tread upon a fond man's living heart ?
But they who warped her gentle sinless soul.
Trailed earthward its young shoot assiduous
Lest it should Godward grow as it desired,
Respectable, smooth, pious, and accurst.
They are to blame — not thou, my murdered love !
Well I was heavy, taciturn, I know,
No meet companion for a sylph like her.
I went about my work ; from morn till night
I toiled for her and for the little ones.
Two babes were ours, a little girl and boy.
I thought of little but my work and them.
And in the evenings jaded with my toil
From the black town preoccupied I came.
How sweet the faces of my darlings then !
Yet cares were on me, care for my beloved..
Such sordid topics could not be for her
To share the weary burden of with me.
Who lived for music and embroidery.
Deft tracing tasteful ornamental work
For some bazaar or cyphers intricate,
Chatting with friends or dancing at a ball.
I dull and weary sitting in the room.
Only a few feet far from her in flesh,
In spirit felt her myriad leagues away —
She had so little heed for what absorbed
Me more and more, and weighed me down in dust.
And I, alas ! in my armchair I slept
While she was playing brilliant passages
Or quavering through the last new opera
By Verdi. Hard she seemed to me and cold
Contemptuous familiarity,
That rust of love marriage may generate,
Enhanced with her by lowly estimate
(Too well deserved) of my so homely wit,
I felt in her demeanour shivering ;
Sluggish and dull to her aerial games,
A mayfly with a crawling snail for mate.

" But once I, forcing my slow brain to think
Of something she would like that I could bring
Home for her from the town, had sacrificed
Ascheme long cherished, and so bought for her
A necklace I had heard her longing for :
And then I think — yes, Sir, I do believe
She loved me when I took it from the case —
Not the bright bauble, but the man who gave !
She looked and flung herself upon me, Sir,
Tears in her sun-laugh : ' I was very good ;
She wished she were a better wife to me.'
With choking voice I only made reply,
' You do then love me : is it true indeed ? '
' Oh, John ! ' she faltered hiding her in me :
And then I blessed my desolate barren life
For holding in its weary waste of sand
This blessed moment : here at home you know
Lightly we value our abundant wells ;
But once I heard a traveller from the East
Describe a desert march interminable
Through scorching sand — the rapture of the drone
Of distant waterwheels upon his ear,
The cool and liquid flash upon his eye
Of spilling water from revolving jars
Sleeked with acacia shadows as they stirred !

"Yet even in such a trifle I was slow
Shrewdly to guess what thing she fancied most.
My mind was smothered in the moil accurst,
And if she asked me, that was not the same.
But now I forced myself to cross her whim
Many a time for fear of what might chance
In ruin of my fortune waning fast.
Once hinting somewhat of my fear to iier.
She but replied I looked the gloomy side,
The Bible said despondency was sin ;
Business she hated, could not comjneiicnd.
Therefore I plodded on, hiding with care
The twin-woes feeding ever insatiable
Upon the vitals of my tortured breast.
"Well, Sir, among her gay acquaintances
Who played and sang and chatted often with her
Was that — the person whom I need not name.
Handsome and gay and brilliant I believe :
I used to think, I owned it to myself,
Nature had moulded them for one another,
Not her for me — and if not her, not any !
Who should be mine in yonder world or this
If not my darling? but I trusted her.
Utterly blindly then I trusted her.
Yes, I was blind, old dotard, a fond fool ;
(But love is blind), until a ' friend sincere '
Hinted a warning : I indignant flushed,
Plucked forth the barb and flung it in his face.
But I suppose it rankled unaware :
I caught myself at hovering nigh the pair
With wistful eyes, till once I somewhat saw
Which startled me to faintness with the shock
Of half-incredulous wonder and dismay.
But then a horrid fascination drew
Me to peer closer— many a trifle now
Fraught with keen anguish to my sickened heart.

" One afternoon, I well remember it.
Our little girl was playing with my beard,
Climbed frolicsome on father's mountain knee,
In a sweet arbour of our shaven lawn,
A summer evening ; and her mother came
Round on us unaware, and sitting nigh
How beautiful she looked, the sun upon her.
Through green festooning of the lush woodbine
Sleeking her curls and dainty waist and foot !
The child cried, ' Let me go, I want mamma ; '
I murmured in my agony of spirit,
Still yearning to her, bleeding for her sin
And treachery, nor holding it full-proven,
Half to myself and half for her to hear,
" Your darling lovely naughtiest mamma ! "
She wincing looked with such a scared white look
I see it now, and shudder seeing it ;
For ah ! there was no ruth, no lingering scent
Of what might once have been a love for me;
It was mere scare; it took away my hope,
I think — not all — hope heaved and fluttered yet.
The child with poor dazed face betwixt us two
Said piteous, ' Mamma, you are not naughty ; '
Yet at her terrible white abstracted look
Returned and hid her face in me and cried.
But soon the mother rose, and sitting by me
Took my cold hand and feigning to be gay
Questioned me ' what I meant ? what could
I mean ?
She thought I must be dreaming, not myself,
At least she craved to know my secret thought.
What had she done ? She would explain it all
If I would tell her; ' but I looked her through,
And shut my lips ; I could not say it out ;
Yet tried to smile (I doubt a withered smile),
And passed my hand athwart my throbbing brow.
And stammered I believed that I was ill.
And she had seemed so cold of late to me.
Of course she probed me little satisfied ;
But I was silent : no proof positive
Was mine : how bring myself to charge disgrace,
Dishonour upon the idol of my life ?
Preoccupied that evening she appeared,
Yet strove to seem affectionate and kind.
Attentive and considerate for me.
There was a certain pleading in her eyes
And movement bringing me my cup of tea
That touched me in my stunned bewilderment,
Recalling soft the blessed year of trust
When I lay childlike pillowed on her breast,
Marvelling God should lend His seraph to me.
You've seen a huge trunk lying prone and bare
With sappy layers concentric where 'twas hewn
Grown dry and soiled, yet through the wrinkled bark
Will creep some budding twigs at breath of spring;
So my heart budded at her look and touch.

" But then there lowers the nightmare horrible —
Well, in the dark, Sir, when we lay in bed
Abrupt she blurted her confession out —
Not tremulous sobbing, weepingtears of blood,
Ah ! no — in hesitating tones she spoke.
Yet slow and measured, in deliberate choice
It seemed of phrase appropriate, as though
A task oppressive weary burdensome
Herself or some third person imposed on her.
'Something had lain upon her conscience long :
She saw I knew it, had been near the telling :
She was about to pray me to forgive ;
And it was very wicked to deceive
Me who had been so very good to her —
Yet when I knew the whole she trusted I,
Tender and generous-hearted, would forgive.'
Ah I Sir, to cling convulsive to a tuft
Over a precipice and feel it give !
To lean secure with all your soul upon
One bosom, and for it to let you down
Crumbling to dust, a bosom of the dead !
When she began to speak I now recall
I shook as with an ague turning cold.
God ! did she fancy that my heart was wood.
So leisurely she fixed and screwed within it
The cruel bradawl of her measured words ?
Mere phrases of remorse conventional,
No love ! scant pity — weak and stupid I
Docile and generous and submissive to her —
Did her indifference to me and contempt
Go length of holding me an idiot mild
With not a man's heart or intelligence ?
Because I could not trill duets with her,
Or spin her sentimental versicles,
Illuminate her prayer-book, almanac,
Because I was not smooth and rose-coloured
Like any woman, nor Adonis-limbed,
Was that a proof I had no power to feel,
That I, just God ! was not a living man,
Whate'er the fashion's popinjay might be ?
A human life spilt shivered at her feet
And tingling with blest sense of scope fulfilled
Exhaling there its costly fragrancy !
Such a devotion even God in Heaven
Accounts no refuse, claiming for His own.
It was not she to spurn me— it was God !
Nay, but lie uses for our punishment
Those very idols we have dared enthrone !
" There I lay suffering, all her cruel words
Cutting me keen like flying spikes of ice,
Until when she avowed (more self-composed
And calm with talk) abysms of treachery
My ghastliest suspicion never plumbed,
I think, I verily believe, that reason
Fell swooning from her seat, and then the devil
Took full possession of my tortured soul —
I rose up a mere maniac with blind
Lust to crush out the thing that tortured me :
My fingers clutched her delicate soft throat,
And tightened, tightened, like a vice in it.
The paroxysm past I sank again
Exhausted on the pillow all confused.
How long I lay I know not, but the truth
Of what had chanced shaped horrible itself
Slowly before me in the lurid gloom.
That moment how I hated her— yet soon
I fell to wondering why she lay so still.
I only knew I had been violent
With her, yet not too brutal, even now
I hoped relenting — then I listened intent —
A sickening fear pressed suddenly upon me !
Why does she lie so quiet that her breath
I cannot hear ! I have not killed her — no —
Impossible ! she means to frighten me
For my unmanly violence but now.
After awhile I shyly touched her brow-
Great Heaven ! it is clammy, it is cold :
I shudder, daring not to feel again.
I cannot, will not credit that can be.
I kill her ! I ! Cruel to frighten me,
Cruel again — I call her under breath.
Then louder, tenderly, and soft again
I breathed her blessed name — without reply.

" I will not add another sin to this,
I thought : my death is sure remaining here.
I expiate my crime before the world.
Then follow her — we meet before the Just.
But I went cowering to the window nigh —
Wherefore I know not — it was early dawn ;
Our casement was ajar ; some birds awoke
In our near trees ; one lark broke up the grey—
The dawning of our honeymoon's lirst night
When I had crept thus to enjoy the dawn
And soft air fragrant with the scent of hay !
(Only last year we played in yonder hay
She and I with the little ones together).
The cattle couched upon the dewy lawn,
Our near church-spire in quiet chrysolite
Among the waning stars where she is gone —
My darling slept then with her pretty face
In her child-hand,and long I watched her lie —
And now, my God ! my love has brought to this
The only thing my love was set upon.
But all I touched I ruined when I touched,
And one long foredoomed failure is my life.
Why was I born ? And yet there is a God —
An awkward child my favourite toys I broke.
And boyish games I spoiled wherein I played,
In business ruined others and myself!
I covered up the marred but precious face ;
And when they stirredabout the house, I called
And told them I had done it, and again
Sat by the darling body, feeling glad
That she and I were now at peace for ever.
The problem so insoluble to me,
The weary problem of this tangled life,
I fingered but to tangle more hopelessly.
Is nigh the solving : I have let it rest :
Nothing can come between us any more.
Tell me, Sir, as a derg>'man, your thought.
Sometimes it seems the more I ponder it
That, now the brutal frenzy-fit has passed
From me for ever, and the moment dire
Of her death-anguish passed away from her.
Her spirit, sloughing off the film obscure
Of earth upon her eyes, beholds at last
The man I am, the bottomless abyss
Of all my love for her — from agony
E!mergent saw, and seeing loved at last,
The man so loving that he murdered her
At the first shock of feeling that his love.
The priceless treasure of his boundless love,
Lay dropt unseen, unheeded underfoot.
She did not know me, did not understand :
That will be changed there — now her eyes are open,
I think she waits to fall upon my breast
Radiant now with all the love I craved.
Announcing God the loving hath forgiven
Both His poor wildcrcd children who have sinned ! "