Paul put the despised watch away And laid out before him his array Of stones and metals, and when the morning Struck the stones to their best adorning, He chose the brightest, and this new watch Was so light and thin it seemed to catch The sunlight"s nothingness, and its gleam.
Topazes ran in a foamy stream Over the cover, the hands were studded With garnets, and seemed red roses, budded.
The face was of crystal, and engraved Upon it the figures flashed and waved With zircons, and beryls, and amethysts.
It took a week to make, and his trysts At night with the Shadow were his alone.
Paul swore not to speak till his task was done.
The night that the jewel was worthy to give.
Paul watched the long hours of daylight live To the faintest streak; then lit his light, And sharp against the wall"s pure white The outline of the Shadow started Into form. His burning-hearted Words so long imprisoned swelled To tumbling speech. Like one compelled, He told the lady all his love, And holding out the watch above His head, he knelt, imploring some Littlest sign.
The Shadow was dumb.
Weeks pa.s.sed, Paul worked in fevered haste, And everything he made he placed Before his lady. The Shadow kept Its perfect pa.s.siveness. Paul wept.
He wooed her with the work of his hands, He waited for those dear commands She never gave. No word, no motion, Eased the ache of his devotion.
His days pa.s.sed in a strain of toil, His nights burnt up in a seething coil.
Seasons shot by, uncognisant He worked. The Shadow came to haunt Even his days. Sometimes quite plain He saw on the wall the blackberry stain Of his lady"s picture. No sun was bright Enough to dazzle that from his sight.
There were moments when he groaned to see His life spilled out so uselessly, Begging for boons the Shade refused, His finest workmanship abused, The iridescent bubbles he blew Into lovely existence, poor and few In the shadowed eyes. Then he would curse Himself and her! The Universe!
And more, the beauty he could not make, And give her, for her comfort"s sake!
He would beat his weary, empty hands Upon the table, would hold up strands Of silver and gold, and ask her why She scorned the best which he could buy.
He would pray as to some high-niched saint, That she would cure him of the taint Of failure. He would clutch the wall With his bleeding fingers, if she should fall He could catch, and hold her, and make her live!
With sobs he would ask her to forgive All he had done. And broken, spent, He would call himself impertinent; Presumptuous; a tradesman; a nothing; driven To madness by the sight of Heaven.
At other times he would take the things He had made, and winding them on strings, Hang garlands before her, and burn perfumes, Chanting strangely, while the fumes Wreathed and blotted the shadow face, As with a cloudy, nacreous lace.
There were days when he wooed as a lover, sighed In tenderness, spoke to his bride, Urged her to patience, said his skill Should break the spell. A man"s sworn will Could compa.s.s life, even that, he knew.
By Christ"s Blood! He would prove it true!
The edge of the Shadow never blurred.
The lips of the Shadow never stirred.
He would climb on chairs to reach her lips, And pat her hair with his finger-tips.
But instead of young, warm flesh returning His warmth, the wall was cold and burning Like stinging ice, and his pa.s.sion, chilled, Lay in his heart like some dead thing killed At the moment of birth. Then, deadly sick, He would lie in a swoon for hours, while thick Phantasmagoria crowded his brain, And his body shrieked in the clutch of pain.
The crisis pa.s.sed, he would wake and smile With a vacant joy, half-imbecile And quite confused, not being certain Why he was suffering; a curtain Fallen over the tortured mind beguiled His sorrow. Like a little child He would play with his watches and gems, with glee Calling the Shadow to look and see How the spots on the ceiling danced prettily When he flashed his stones. "Mother, the green Has slid so cunningly in between The blue and the yellow. Oh, please look down!"
Then, with a pitiful, puzzled frown, He would get up slowly from his play And walk round the room, feeling his way From table to chair, from chair to door, Stepping over the cracks in the floor, Till reaching the table again, her face Would bring recollection, and no solace Could balm his hurt till unconsciousness Stifled him and his great distress.
One morning he threw the street door wide On coming in, and his vigorous stride Made the tools on his table rattle and jump.
In his hands he carried a new-burst clump Of laurel blossoms, whose smooth-barked stalks Were pliant with sap. As a husband talks To the wife he left an hour ago, Paul spoke to the Shadow. "Dear, you know To-day the calendar calls it Spring, And I woke this morning gathering Asphodels, in my dreams, for you.
So I rushed out to see what flowers blew Their pink-and-purple-scented souls Across the town-wind"s dusty scrolls, And made the approach to the Market Square A garden with smells and sunny air.
I feel so well and happy to-day, I think I shall take a Holiday.
And to-night we will have a little treat.
I am going to bring you something to eat!"
He looked at the Shadow anxiously.
It was quite grave and silent. He Shut the outer door and came And leant against the window-frame.
"Dearest," he said, "we live apart Although I bear you in my heart.
We look out each from a different world.
At any moment we may be hurled Asunder. They follow their orbits, we Obey their laws entirely.
Now you must come, or I go there, Unless we are willing to live the flare Of a lighted instant and have it gone."
A bee in the laurels began to drone.
A loosened petal fluttered p.r.o.ne.
"Man grows by eating, if you eat You will be filled with our life, sweet Will be our planet in your mouth.
If not, I must parch in death"s wide drouth Until I gain to where you are, And give you myself in whatever star May happen. O You Beloved of Me!
Is it not ordered cleverly?"
The Shadow, bloomed like a plum, and clear, Hung in the sunlight. It did not hear.
Paul slipped away as the dusk began To dim the little shop. He ran To the nearest inn, and chose with care As much as his thin purse could bear.
As rapt-souled monks watch over the baking Of the sacred wafer, and through the making Of the holy wine whisper secret prayers That G.o.d will bless this labour of theirs; So Paul, in a sober ecstasy, Purchased the best which he could buy.
Returning, he brushed his tools aside, And laid across the table a wide Napkin. He put a gla.s.s and plate On either side, in duplicate.
Over the lady"s, excellent With loveliness, the laurels bent.
In the centre the white-flaked pastry stood, And beside it the wine flask. Red as blood Was the wine which should bring the l.u.s.tihood Of human life to his lady"s veins.
When all was ready, all which pertains To a simple meal was there, with eyes Lit by the joy of his great emprise, He reverently bade her come, And forsake for him her distant home.
He put meat on her plate and filled her gla.s.s, And waited what should come to pa.s.s.
The Shadow lay quietly on the wall.
From the street outside came a watchman"s call "A cloudy night. Rain beginning to fall."
And still he waited. The clock"s slow tick Knocked on the silence. Paul turned sick.
He filled his own gla.s.s full of wine; From his pocket he took a paper. The twine Was knotted, and he searched a knife From his jumbled tools. The cord of life Snapped as he cut the little string.
He knew that he must do the thing He feared. He shook powder into the wine, And holding it up so the candle"s shine Sparked a ruby through its heart, He drank it. "Dear, never apart Again! You have said it was mine to do.
It is done, and I am come to you!"
Paul Jannes let the empty wine-gla.s.s fall, And held out his arms. The insentient wall Stared down at him with its cold, white glare Unstained! The Shadow was not there!
Paul clutched and tore at his tightening throat.
He felt the veins in his body bloat, And the hot blood run like fire and stones Along the sides of his cracking bones.
But he laughed as he staggered towards the door, And he laughed aloud as he sank on the floor.
The Coroner took the body away, And the watches were sold that Sat.u.r.day.
The Auctioneer said one could seldom buy Such watches, and the prices were high.
The Forsaken
Holy Mother of G.o.d, Merciful Mary. Hear me! I am very weary. I have come from a village miles away, all day I have been coming, and I ache for such far roaming. I cannot walk as light as I used, and my thoughts grow confused.
I am heavier than I was. Mary Mother, you know the cause!
Beautiful Holy Lady, take my shame away from me! Let this fear be only seeming, let it be that I am dreaming. For months I have hoped it was so, now I am afraid I know. Lady, why should this be shame, just because I haven"t got his name. He loved me, yes, Lady, he did, and he couldn"t keep it hid. We meant to marry. Why did he die?