He sat at my feet, and his head he laid
Low down on my lap, and he did not move,
But he murmur'd softly, 'I am afraid
I shall make a fool of myself, my love.'
And then he suddenly burst into tears
(I had never seen tears in Harry's eyes),
And he cried, 'If I live a hundred years,
I shall see the wild face of Jack Devize!'
Then I felt the doom that was o'er us laid,
And our lives stood before me pale and gray;
My heart turn'd sick--I was feeling afraid--
As I kept kissing Harry's tears away.
And must his life be so faint and so dim?
And his heart be rack'd by a useless pain?
While I'm always trying to comfort him,
And always trying to comfort in vain?
Ah no, my beloved, it shall _not_ be so,
I will try so hard--I will pray so much;
Comfort will come to you, Harry, I know,
And grief die out 'neath her delicate touch.
We must both be brave and must play our parts;
We must fight the battle with weapons fit;
Time will take sorrow out of our hearts,
But oh, the pity--the pity of it!
There are no more secrets 'twixt you and me;
Our hearts may reveal their thoughts as they pass;
There is a ripple the less on the sea,
And a purer light flits over the grass.
If shadows are dark, and lights are not clear,
It is only the common lot of man;
We must live our actual lives, my dear,
And make the best of those lives that we can.
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