Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WIFE, by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE WIFE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: That night she dreamt that he had died
Last Line: And they were sleeping, side by side.


That night she dreamt that he had died,
As they were sleeping, side by side:
And she awakened in affright,
To think of him, so cold and white:
And, when she turned her eyes to him,
The tears of dream had made them dim;
And, for a while, she could not see
That he was sleeping quietly.
But, as she saw him lying there,
The moonlight on his curly hair,
With happy face and even breath,
Although she thought no more of death;
And it was very good to rest
Her trembling hand on his calm breast,
And feel the warm and breathing life;
And know that she was still his wife;
Yet, in his bosom's easy stir,
She felt a something trouble her;
And wept again, she knew not why;
And thought it would be good to die --
To sink into the deep, sweet rest,
Her hand upon his quiet breast.

She slept: and when she woke again,
A bird was at the window-pane,
A wild-eyed bird, with wings of white
That fluttered in the cold moonlight,
As though for very fear of night;
And flapped the pane, as if afraid:
Yet, not a sound the white wings made.
Her eyes met those beseeching eyes;
And then she felt she needs must rise,
To let the poor, wild creature in
To find the rest it sought to win.
She rose and set the casement wide,
And caught the murmur of the tide;
And saw, afar, the mounded graves
About the church beside the waves --
The huddled headstones gleaming white
And ghostly in the cold moonlight.

The bird flew straightway to the bed;
And hovered o'er the husband's head,
And circled thrice above his head,
Three times above his dreaming head:
And, as she watched it flying round,
She wondered that it made no sound;
And while she wondered, it was gone:
And cold and white the moonlight shone
Upon her husband, sleeping there;
And turned to silver his gold hair;
And paled like death his ruddy face.
Then, creeping back into her place,
She lay beside him in the bed:
But, if she closed her eyes, with dread
She saw that wild bird's eyes that burned
Through her shut eyelids, though she turned
Her blessings over in her heart,
That peace might come: and with a start,
If she but drowsed, or dreamt of rest,
She felt that wild beak in her breast.
So, wearying for the time to rise,
She watched, till dawn was in the skies.

Her husband woke: but not a word
She told him of the strange, white bird:
But, as at breakfast-time, she took
The pan of porridge from the crook,
And all was ready to begin,
A neighbour gossip hurried in,
And told the news, that Phoebe Wright
Had died in childbirth in the night.
The husband neither spoke, nor stirred,
But sat as one who, having heard,
May never hearken to a word
From any living lips again;
And, heedless of the tongues of men,
Hears, in a silence, dread and deep,
The dead folk talking in their sleep.
His porridge stood till it was cold:
And as he sat, his face grew old;
And all his yellow hair turned white,
As it had looked to her last night,
When it was drenched with cold moonlight.
And she knew all: yet never said
A word to him about the dead;
Or pestered him to take his meat:
But, sitting silent in her seat,
She left him quiet with his heart
To thoughts in which she had no part
Until he rose to go about
His daily work; and staggered out.
And all that day, her eyes were dim
That she had borne no child to him.

Days passed: and then, one evening late,
As she came by the churchyard-gate,
She saw him, near the new-made grave:
And with a lifted head and brave,
She hurried home, lest he should know
That she had looked upon his woe.
And when they sat beside the fire,
Although it seemed he could not tire
Of gazing on the glowing coal,
And though a fire was in her soul;
She sat beside him with a smile,
Lest he should look on her, the while,
And wonder what could make her sad
When all the world but him was glad.
But, not a word to her he said:
And silently they went to bed.

She never closed her eyes that night:
And she was stirring, ere the light;
And while her husband lay at rest,
She left his side, and quickly dressed;
And stole downstairs, as though in fear
That he should chance to wake, and hear.
And still the stars were burning bright,
As she passed out into the night;
And all the dewy air was sweet
With flowers that grew about her feet,
Where he, for her, when they were wed,
Had digged and sown a wallflower-bed:
And on the rich, deep, mellow scent
A gust of memories came and went,
As, dreaming of those old glad hours,
She stooped to pluck a bunch of flowers,
To lay upon the flowerless grave
That held his heart beside the wave.
Though, like a troop of ghosts in white,
The headstones watched in cold starlight,
As, by the dead girl's grave she knelt,
No fear in her full heart she felt:
But hurried home, when she had laid
Her offering on the turf, afraid
That he should wake, and find her gone:
And still the stars in heaven shone,
When into bed again she crept,
And lay beside him, while he slept.
And when day came, upon his hair,
The warm light fell: and young and fair,
He looked again to her kind eyes
That watched him till 'twas time to rise.

And, every day, as he went by
The churchyard-gate with downcast eye,
He saw fresh blooms upon the grave
That held his heart beside the wave:
And, wondering, he was glad to find
That any living soul was kind
To that dead girl who died the death
Of shame for his sake: and the breath
Of those fresh flowers to him was sweet,
As he trudged home with laggard feet,
Still wondering who could be her friend.

He never knew, until the end,
When, in the churchyard by the wave,
He stood beside another grave:
And, as the priest's last words were said,
He turned, and lifting up his head,
He saw the bunch of flowers was dead
Upon the dead girl's grave; and felt
The truth shoot through his heart, and melt
The frost of icy bitterness,
And flood his heart with warm distress:
And, kneeling by his dead wife's grave,
To her, at last, her hour he gave.

That night she dreamt he, too, had died,
And they were sleeping, side by side.





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