An Afterthought
Vine leaves rustled, moonbeams shone,
Summer breezes softly sighed;
You and I were all alone
In a kingdom fair and wide
You, a Queen, in all your pride,
I, a vassal, by your side.
Fairy voices in the leaves
Ceaselessly were whispering:
“’Tis the time to garner sheaves—
Let your heart its longing sing;
Place upon her hand a ring;
Then our Queen shall know her King.”
E’en the moonbeams seemed to learn
Speech when they had kissed your face,
Passing fair—my lips did yearn
To be moonbeams for a space—
“Lo, ’tis fitting time and place!
Speak, and courage will find grace.”
But the night wind murmured low,
Softly brushing back your hair,
“Look into her face, and know
That she is a jewel rare,
Worthy of a monarch’s heir;
Who are you that you should dare!”
Hope died like a frost-touched flower;
But through all the coming years,
In that quiet evening hour,
When the flowers are all in tears,
When the heart hath hopes and fears,
When the day-world disappears.
If the vine leaves rustle low,
If the moon shine on the sea,
If the night wind softly blow,—
Dreaming of what may not be,—
Well I know that I shall see
Your sweet eyes look down on me.