CHRISTINA.
9
That heaved as if it could not hold a joy-
Made out of such an anguish, close she pressed me,
And, sobbing, murm'ring to herself or heaven,
In language half articulate, the words
Came broken: "I have found thee! I have found thee!"
"What hast thou found, Christina?" then I said.
And with the words unto my lips arose
A laugh of bitterness, whose mocking tones
Through all the dreary hollow of my heart
Woke up the echoes of its desolation;
"What hast thou found? Speak not to me of her
Whose name perchance thy lips are framing now,—
The Magdalene; my life hath been as hers
But not my heart, for she loved much—for this
The more forgiveness meeting; I love none!"
But then Christina pointed to the flowers
Still hanging on my arm; "Thou lovest none!"
And gently laid upon my mouth her hand,
A soft restraining curb that now my speech,
Like an ungovernable steed sore stung
And goaded into frenzy, spurned aside,
And sprang the wilder; "None, not even thee!"
I cried; but then the whiteness of her face
Smote on my spirit, taming scorn to sadness.
"Why should I vex thee with my words; of love
I know but as I know of God, of good,
Of hope, of heaven, of all things counted holy—
Know only by their names, for nought in me
Gives witness to their natures; so, to speak
Made out of such an anguish, close she pressed me,
And, sobbing, murm'ring to herself or heaven,
In language half articulate, the words
Came broken: "I have found thee! I have found thee!"
"What hast thou found, Christina?" then I said.
And with the words unto my lips arose
A laugh of bitterness, whose mocking tones
Through all the dreary hollow of my heart
Woke up the echoes of its desolation;
"What hast thou found? Speak not to me of her
Whose name perchance thy lips are framing now,—
The Magdalene; my life hath been as hers
But not my heart, for she loved much—for this
The more forgiveness meeting; I love none!"
But then Christina pointed to the flowers
Still hanging on my arm; "Thou lovest none!"
And gently laid upon my mouth her hand,
A soft restraining curb that now my speech,
Like an ungovernable steed sore stung
And goaded into frenzy, spurned aside,
And sprang the wilder; "None, not even thee!"
I cried; but then the whiteness of her face
Smote on my spirit, taming scorn to sadness.
"Why should I vex thee with my words; of love
I know but as I know of God, of good,
Of hope, of heaven, of all things counted holy—
Know only by their names, for nought in me
Gives witness to their natures; so, to speak
