Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A TRUANT FROM EDEN, by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A TRUANT FROM EDEN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: In a mazy, sunlit garden
Last Line: As sharp the clock rang out for noon!
Alternate Author Name(s): Dean
Subject(s): Farewell; Love - Loss Of; Parting


IN a mazy, sunlit garden,
Where was neither watch nor warden,
But the butterflies and bees
Rifling the laburnum-trees;
Where lilies pale and purple phlox
Bent above the bordering box,
And clustering pinks and crimson roses
Made fragrant even the orchard closes —
There one blissful hour I strayed
With the boy they said was laid
Forever 'neath the yew-tree's shade —
Harold, with his summers seven!
The tower-clock was chiming eleven
As I saw him down the stair,
With his blue eyes, and chestnut hair
Backward from his forehead blown
By the wind, that made such moan
When we lost him, ('twas a day
In dreary March he went away)
But that now, in glad surprise,
Breathed a strain of Paradise.

How I caught him to my heart!
'Darling! naught again shall part
You and me, you and me!'
Thrice he kissed me; then in glee,
Down the winding path he sped, —
So he was wont of old to play —
I could see his shining head
Bright the darkling boughs between,
As if a sunbeam glanced that way;
While I followed where he led,
Followed still, through gold and green,
By grove and walk, his dancing feet;
And as he ran, now fairy-fleet,
Now from some gloom emerging slow,
Still beckoning, still eluding me,
His cheek outvied the rose's glow,
His voice, the robin's minstrelsy.

And then, and then, — God pity me
That still my lonely days glide on —
I know not how, but he was gone!
Unseen, had vanished utterly!
Viewless as evening zephyrs pass
That softly sway the meadow grass;
Silent as April sunlight goes,
When a black cloud, relentless, throws
Its shadow over lawn and tree!
And calling, flying where he fled,
I passed the lilies, drooping, dead,
And, breathless, gained the vacant stair; —
The sun shone wan as winter moon;
A chill wind blew the rose-tree bare,
Strewing its blossoms o'er the stone;
And he was gone, and I alone,
As sharp the clock rang out for noon!





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