Jessamine

Here stands the great tree still, with broad bent head;     Its wide arms grown aweary, yet outspread     With their old blessing. But wan memory weaves     Strange garlands, now, amongst the darkening leaves.     And the moon hangs low in the elm.     Beneath these glimmering arches Jessamine     Walked with her lover long ago; and in     The leaf-dimmed light he questioned, and she spoke;     Then on them both, supreme, love's radiance broke.     And the moon hangs low in the elm.     Sweet Jessamine we called her; for she shone     Like blossoms that in sun and shade have grown,     Gathering from each alike a perfect white,     Whose rich bloom breaks opaque through darkest night.     And the moon hangs low in the elm.     For this her sweetness Walt, her lover, sought     To win her; wooed her here, his heart o'er fraught     With fragrance of her being; and gained his plea.     So "We will wed," they said, "beneath this tree."     And the moon hangs low in the elm.     Yet dreams of conquering greater prize for her     Roused his wild spirit with a glittering spur.     Eager for wealth, far, far from home he sailed;     And life paused; - while she watched joy vanish, veiled.     And the moon hangs low in the elm.     Ah, better at the elm-tree's sunbrowned feet     If he had been content to let life fleet     Its wonted way! - lord of his little farm,     In zest of joys or cares unmixed with harm.     And the moon hangs low in the elm.     For, as against a snarling sea one steers,     He battled vainly with the surging years;     While ever Jessamine must watch and pine,     Her vision bounded by the bleak sea-line.     And the moon hangs low in the elm.     Then silence fell; and all the neighbors said     That Walt had married, faithless, or was dead:     Unmoved in constancy, her tryst she kept,     Each night beneath the tree, ere sorrow slept.     And the moon hangs low in the elm.     So, circling years went by, till in her face     Slow melancholy wrought a mingled grace,     Of early joy with suffering's hard alloy -     Refined and rare, no doom could e'er destroy.         And the moon hangs low in the elm.     Sometimes at twilight, when sweet Jessamine     Slow-footed, weary-eyed, passed by to win     The elm, we smiled for pity of her, and mused     On love that so could live, with love refused.         And the moon hangs low in the elm.     And none could hope for her. But she had grown     Too high in love, for hope. She bloomed alone,     Aloft in proud devotion; and secure     Against despair; so sweet her faith, so sure.         And the moon hangs low in the elm.     Her wandering lover knew not well her soul.     Discouraged, on disaster's changing shoal     Stranding, he waited; starved on selfish pride,     Long years; nor would obey love's homeward tide.         And the moon hangs low in the elm.     But, bitterly repenting of his sin,     Deeper at last he learned to look within     Sweet Jessamine's true heart - when the past, dead,     Mocked him with wasted years forever fled.         And the moon hangs low in the elm.     Late, late, oh late, beneath the tree stood two;     In trembling joy, and wondering "Is it true?" -     Two that were each like some strange, misty wraith:     Yet each on each gazed with a living faith.         And the moon hangs low in the elm.     Even to the tree-top sang the wedding-bell:     Even to the tree-top tolled the passing knell.     Beneath it Walt and Jessamine were wed,     Beneath it many a year has she lain dead.     And the moon hangs low in the elm.     Here stands the great tree, still. But age has crept     Through every coil, while Walt each night has kept     The tryst alone. Hark! with what windy might     The boughs chant o'er her grave their burial-rite!      And the moon hangs low in the elm.