The Ribbon

Those were the days of doubt. How clear     It all comes back! This ribbon, see?     Brings that far past so very near     I lose my own identity,     And seem two beings: one that's here,     And one back in that century     Of cowardice and fear,     Wherein I met with love and her,     When I was but a wanderer.     Those were the days of doubt, I said:     I doubted all things; even God.     Within my heart there was no dread     Of Hell or Heaven. Never a rod     Was there to smite; no mercy led:     And man's reward was death: a clod     He was, alive or dead.     Those were the days of doubt; and so     I scoffed at all things, high and low.     And then I met her. Fair and frail,     A girl whose soul was as a flame     That burns within the Holy Grael;     And through her eyes shone clear the same     Fanatic fire, pure and pale,     That once put Sisera to shame     In the dark eyes of Jael,     When, leading him into her tent,     She used the nail as argument.     There was no argument of grace     She did not use; no dogma, wrought     Of sophistry, she did not place     Before me, leading up my thought     To Heaven from the fearful maze     Of Hell, wherein God's angels fought     With fiends, on darkling ways.     I listened but in her young look     Was more for me than in God's Book.     She seemed a priestess. Heaven to be     Was in her face. A ribbon bound     Her hair like a phylactery.     This is the band. I took it; wound     And laid it on my heart. Ah me!     No other argument I found     As good as that. Convincingly     It held me sane and sound.     And I have kept it here alway     Since first she gave it me that day.     "Where is she now"? I do not know.     She is the wife of one whose hand,     Stretched forth to aid me long-ago,     Took from me more than all this land     In her own self, and gave me woe     To take her place. As here I stand     I stood and took the blow,     While in my heart I looked and saw     The love that fiiled my soul with awe.     And did she love me? Am I sure?     Ah, while I heard angelic hosts     Of Heaven singing love, there were     Black wings about me: all the ghosts     Of all my doubts. I heard them stir,     And so drew back from those bright coasts     Of happiness with her.     Despite the love within my heart     Doubt entered, and began its part.     Make no mistake. I loved her; ay!     And she loved me as women love     The thing they save. I spoke my lie,     That by my lie I so might prove     Her love, and with the proof defy     The doubt, whose shadow hung above,     Watching with jealous eye.     So I denied love. Played a part     And, playing it, broke my own heart.     The better part of me then died;     I killed her love, not mine. You see     I keep this ribbon here, she tied     My heart to hers with. Silkenly     It says, "She is another's bride.     Through me now keep in memory     Your doubt was justified.     She did not love you. She could change."     I keep the ribbon. Is it strange?