Poems (Trask)/Beneath the Shadow

by Clara Augusta Jones Trask

BENEATH THE SHADOW.

I walk on the hill-tops, I smell the wild roses,—
 Sweet roses that clamber and blossom at will,—
I gather whole handfuls, and wonder what sweetness
 They lack,—and my heart lieth still
And dumb in the Present. With thoughts of the Future?
 Ah,no!—with a longing for blessedness fled.
Oh, Life so relentless! oh, Time! stop a moment,
 And let me uncover the face of my dead.

The Past! Let me look at it only a moment:
 An eternity boundless, exquisite in pain;
Oh, could I roll back the wheels of Time's chariot,
 And live,—just live over that heaven again!
Rare heaven of sweetness! oh, heart mute with anguish,
 Is there any bitterness like unto this,
In days that are barren and bleak as the desert,
 The remembering of hours that were golden with liss?

One voice was the music to me of all Eden,
 One smile was the heaven wherein I took rest.
Did I care if the world went on, or stood stagnant,
 When his arms were around me, my head on his breast?
Oh, silence was eloquent! sacredest stillness
 Was sweeter than harp-notes or music of spheres;
I swam in a joy so profound, so exquisite,
 It found no expression save only in tears.

Ah, well! it is over. The fair skies are leaden,
 The soft summer breezes are chill as the tomb;
I shiver with dread as they sweep through the tree-tops,
 They strike to my heart like the voices of doom.
Oh, is there no balsam, no healing in Gilead?
 No help for the anguish, no cure for the pain?
Can I never escape from the weight of this burden?
 Shall I never come forth from the shadow again?