Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PARTING OF SIGURD AND GERDA, by ELIZABETH DOTEN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE PARTING OF SIGURD AND GERDA, by                    
First Line: She stood beneath the moonlight pale
Last Line: Won by thine earnest love.
Alternate Author Name(s): Doten, Lizzie
Subject(s): Farewell; Love; Man-woman Relationships; Parting; Male-female Relations


SHE stood beneath the moonlight pale,
With calm, uplifted eye,
While all her being, weak and frail,
Thrilled with her purpose high;
For she, the long affianced bride,
Must seal the fount of tears,
And break, with woman's lofty pride,
The plighted faith of years.

Ay! she had loved as in a dream,
And woke, at length, to find
How coldly on her spirit gleamed
The dazzling light of mind.
For little was the true, deep love
Of that pure spirit known
To him, the cold, the selfish one,
Who claimed her as his own.

And what to him were all her dreams
Of purer, holier life?
Such idle fancies ill became
A meek, submissive wife.
And what were all her yearnings high
For God and "Fatherland"
But vain chimeras, lofty flights,
While Sigurd held her hand?

And then uprose the bitter thought,
"Why bow to his control?
Why sacrifice, before his pride,
The freedom of my soul?
Better to break the golden chain,
And live and love apart,
Than feel the galling, grinding links
Wearing upon my heart."

He came,—and, with a soft, low voice,
In the pale gleaming light,
She laid her gentle hand in his—
"Sigurd, we part to-night.
Long have these bitter words been kept
Within this heart of mine,
And often have I lonely wept,—
I never can be thine."

Proudly, with folded arms he stood,
And cold, sarcastic smile—
"Ha! this is but a wayward mood,
An artful woman's wile.
But this I know: so long—so long
I've held thee to thy vow,
That I have made the bond too strong
For thee to break it now."

"You know me not;—my lofty pride
Was hidden from your eyes;
But you have crushed it down so low
It gives me strength to rise.
O! all my bitter, burning thoughts
I may not, dare not tell!
Sigurd, my loved—forever loved!
Farewell! once more, farewell!"

One moment, and those loving arms
Were gently round him thrown;
One moment, and those quivering lips
Pressed lightly to his own:
And then he stood alone! alone!
With eyes too proud for tears;
Yet o'er his stern, cold heart was thrown
The burning blight of years.

O man! so God-like in thy strength,
Preëminent in mind,
Seek not with these high gifts alone,
A woman's heart to bind.
For, timid as a shrinking fawn,
Yet faithful as a dove,
She clings through life and death to thee,
Won by thine earnest love.





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