Poems (Odom)/Two Loves

For works with similar titles, see Two Loves.

TWO LOVES.

Forgive me, O my darling!
If the love has seemed to pale
That I once so fondly pledged you
At the low white altar rail.
I look upon my finger
Wearing still the wedding-ring
That you fondly placed upon it
When my love had crowned you king.

And sweeping back the shadows
Of the intervening years,
I bow my head upon it
In an agony of tears.
God has lifted you, my dear one,
Far above my warm embrace;
I have seen the light of heaven
Resting on your peaceful face;

I have watched the mortal chalice
Break within your failing hands;
Knelt beside you when your spirit
Glided from its mortal bands;
Felt the faint, despairing kisses
Of your swiftly waning life;
And caught the last sweet whisper
Of those precious words: "My wife."

I have held our little children
To my lonely, aching breast,
Praying God to give us shelter—
Just a quiet place of rest.
But the world is cold and careless
Of the living and the dead;
Though I bore my burden bravely,
I could scarcely earn our bread.

My slender form grew faint, dear,
Beneath the toil and pain;
My cheeks were pallid with the tears
That fell like bitter rain,
The way grew dark and darker still
Before my weary feet,
Until my bowed and broken heart
Had almost ceased to beat.

And then there fell across my path
A trembling ray of light,
A tiny rift within the cloud,
A single star of night,
And one, who like myself had borne
In tears the chastening cross,
Whose heart in desolation mourned
Its greatest earthly loss,

Came to me when my very soul
Was faint and longed for rest,
And gave my weary, aching head
The shelter of his breast.
He read within his lonely heart
The grief that clouded mine;
We both had wept an idol lost
Before a darkened shrine.

And while the early loves of youth
Still brightly glowed the same,
Beside them rose within each heart
Another fresher flame;
Less warm perchance, perhaps less bright,
But steady, strong, and true
As ever woman gave to man,
Or man for woman knew.

The seasons of this fleeting life
In turn their tributes bring,
And autumn flowers often bloom
As fair as those of spring;
Sometimes their very lateness gives
Their bloom a softer glow,
Like beams of golden sunset on
A closing day of snow.

If, from your fair, celestial home,
My dear one, you can see
Another walk beside me in
The path you walked with me;
If I should lean my weary head
On his protecting breast,
I know it cannot trouble, dear,
Your sweet, eternal rest.

Your place, my darling, still is yours,
And still I wear your ring,
And hold your image in my heart
A sacred, holy thing;
And he, who would so tenderly
Lift up my broken life,
Is faithful still in memory
To his immortal wife.