Poem by Edmund Clarence Stedman

Rosemary

“THERE’S ROSEMARY, THAT’S FOR REMEMBRANCE.”

  Years ago, when a summer sun
    Warmed the greenwood into life,
  I went wandering with one
    Soon to be my wife.

  Birds were mating, and Love began
    All the copses to infold;
  Our two souls together ran
    Melting in one mould.

  Skies were bluer than ever before:
    It was joy to love you then,
  And to know I loved you more
    Than could other men!

  Winds were fresh and your heart was brave,
    Sang to mine a sweet refrain,
  And for every pledge I gave
    Pledged me back again.

  How it happened I cannot tell,
    But there came a cursed hour,
  When some hidden shape of hell
    Crept within our bower.

  Sudden and sharply either spoke
    Bitter words of doubt and scorn;
  Pride the golden linklets broke,—
    Left us both forlorn.

  Seven long years have gone since then,
    And I suffered, but, at last,
  Rose and joined my fellow-men,
    Crushing down the past.

  Far away over distant hills,
    Now I know your life is led;
  Have you felt the rust that kills?
    Are your lilies dead?

  Summer and winter you have dwelt,
    Like a statue, cold and white;
  None, of all the crowd who knelt,
    Read your soul aright.

  O, I knew the tremulous swell
    Of its secret undertone!
  That diviner music fell
    On my ear alone!

  Ever in dreams we meet with tears:
    Lake and mountain—all are past:
  With the stifled love of seven long years
    Hold each other fast!

  Though the glamoury of the night
    Fades with morning far away,
  Oftentimes a strange delight
    Haunts the after-day.

  Even now, when the summer sun
    Warms the greenwood far within,
  Even now my fancies run
    On what might have been.

1. W. W.
2. Penelope
3. The Singer
4. Heliotrope
5. Summer Rain

Abbie Brown Rosemary ("THERE was a long path through the fern")

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