Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE: 3, by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE: 3, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The house is all deserted
Last Line: God, and her own true heart!
Alternate Author Name(s): Berwick, Mary
Subject(s): Grief; Life; Soul; Tears; Sorrow; Sadness


I.

THE house is all deserted
In the dim evening gloom,
Only one figure passes
Slowly from room to room;
And, pausing at each doorway,
Seems gathering up again
Within her heart the relics
Of bygone joy and pain.

II.

There is an earnest longing
In those who onward gaze,
Looking with weary patience
Towards the coming days.
There is a deeper longing,
More sad, more strong, more keen:
Those know it who look backward,
And yearn for what has been.

III.

At every hearth she pauses,
Touches each well-known chair;
Gazes from every window,
Lingers on every stair.
What have these months brought Alice
Now one more year is past?
This Christmas eve shall tell us,
The third one and the last.

IV.

The wilful, wayward Dora,
In those first weeks of grief,
Could seek and find in Alice
Strength, soothing, and relief.
And Alice -- last sad comfort
True woman-heart can take --
Had something still to suffer
And bear for Herbert's sake.

V.

Spring, with her western breezes,
From Indian Islands bore
To Alice news that Leonard
Would seek his home once more.
What was it, -- joy, or sorrow?
What were they, -- hopes, or fears?
That flushed her cheeks with crimson,
And filled her eyes with tears?

VI.

He came. And who so kindly
Could ask and hear her tell
Herbert's last hours; for Leonard
Had known and loved him well.
Daily he came; and Alice,
Poor weary heart, at length,
Weighed down by others' weakness,
Could lean upon his strength.

VII.

Yet not the voice of Leonard
Could her true care beguile,
That turned to watch, rejoicing,
Dora's reviving smile.
So, from that little household
The worst gloom passed away,
The one bright hour of evening
Lit up the livelong day.

VIII.

Days passed. The golden summer
In sudden heat bore down
Its blue, bright, glowing sweetness
Upon the scorching town.
And sights and sounds of country
Came in the warm soft tune
Sung by the honeyed breezes
Borne on the wings of June.

IX.

One twilight hour, but earlier
Than usual, Alice thought
She knew the fresh sweet fragrance
Of flowers that Leonard brought;
Through opened doors and windows
It stole up through the gloom,
And with appealing sweetness
Drew Alice from her room.

X.

Yes, he was there; and, pausing
Just near the opened door,
To check her heart's quick beating,
She heard -- and paused still more
His low voice -- Dora's answers --
His pleading -- Yes, she knew
The tone -- the words -- the accents;
She once had heard them too.

XI.

"Would Alice blame her?" Leonard's
Low, tender answer came:
"Alice was far too noble
To think or dream of blame."
"And was he sure he loved her?"
"Yes, with the one love given
Once in a lifetime only,
With one soul and one heaven!"

XII.

Then came a plaintive murmur, --
"Dora had once been told
That he and Alice --" "Dearest,
Alice is far too cold
To love; and I, my Dora,
If once I fancied so,
It was a brief delusion,
And over -- long ago."

XIII.

Between the Past and Present,
On that bleak moment's height,
She stood. As some lost traveller,
By a quick flash of light
Seeing a gulf before him;
With dizzy, sick despair,
Reels backward, but to find it
A deeper chasm there.

XIV.

The twilight grew still darker,
The fragrant flowers more sweet,
The stars shone out in heaven,
The lamps gleamed down the street;
And hours passed in dreaming
Over their new-found fate,
Ere they could think of wondering
Why Alice was so late.

XV.

She came, and calmly listened;
In vain they strove to trace
If Herbert's memory shadowed
In grief upon her face.
No blame, no wonder showed there
No feeling could be told;
Her voice was not less steady,
Her manner not more cold.

XVI.

They could not hear the anguish
That broke in words of pain
Through the calm summer midnight, --
"My Herbert -- mine again!"
Yes, they have once been parted,
But this day shall restore
The long-lost one: she claims him;
"My Herbert -- mine once more!"

XVII.

Now Christmas eve returning
Saw Alice stand beside
the altar, greeting Dora,
Again a smiling bride;
And now the gloomy evening
Sees Alice pale and worn,
Leaving the house forever,
To wander out forlorn.

XVIII.

Forlorn -- nay, not so. Anguish
Shall do its work at length;
Her soul, passed through the fire,
Shall gain still purer strength.
Somewhere there waits for Alice
An earnest, noble part;
And meanwhile God is with her, --
God, and her own true heart!





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