Classic Poem

The Dream-God brought me once into a country
Where weeping willows waved to me a welcome
With their long leafy arms, and where the flowers,
With sober sisters' eyes gazed gently on me,
Where the birds' twitter seemed familiar to me,
Where ev'n the dogs' bark seemed to me well known;
Where voices and where persons greeted me
Like an old friend; and yet where all things
So strange seemed to me, wonderfully strange.
I stood before a pretty country house.
My breast was troubled; yet within my brain
Peace reigned; and peacefully I shook off
The dust that clung about my travelling garb.
Sharp clanged the bell, and soon the door stood open,

And there were men and women — many well-known
Faces; but silent grief on all was painted,
And secret, shrinking fear. With strange emotion —
Almost with pitying mien — they gazed upon me,
Till I myself felt, shuddering through my bosom,
Something like presage of unknown disaster.

There sat old Margaret, whom I knew at once;
Questioning I looked at her, but still she spoke not.
" Where is Maria? " asked I; but she spoke not.
She took me gently by the hand, and led me
Through many long and brightly lighted rooms,
Where luxury and state and silence reigned;
Led me at last into a misty chamber,
Then motioned me, with countenance averted,
Toward a form that on the sofa sat.
" Are you Maria ? " asked I, and I shuddered
To the heart's core at the solemnity
With which I spoke; and, stony and metallic,
Rang back the voice: " The people call me so. "
A cutting pain went coldly through me then,
For that same hollow, freezing tone was still
The voice — once so melodious — of Maria:
That woman in the faded lilac gown
Thrown carelessly around her; breasts down hanging;
Eyes fixed and glassy; and the cheeks, and muscles
Of her pale visage limp and loose as leather —
Ah yes! that woman was the once so fair,
The blooming, lovely, lovable Maria!
" You've been long on your travels, " she broke out,
With cold familiarity uncanny;
" Good friend, you look no more so languishing.
How strong you seem — your loins and calves stand out,
And show solidity. " A sickly smile
Fluttered around the pale and yellow lips.

In my confusion this I blurted forth:
" Why, some one told me, sure, that you were married. "
" Oh yes! " she coolly said, loud-voiced and smiling,
" I have a wooden stick which, covered over
With leather, is called " husband." Still, plain wood
Is wood. " She laughed, a low repulsive laughter.
Then a cold pang ran through my very soul,
And doubt seized on me. Can those be the pure
Lips — pure as opening flowers — Maria's?
But then she stood up all her height, took quickly
Her shawl from off the chair, and wrapped it
About her neck, then hung upon my arm,
And drew me thence, first through the open house-door,
Then on and on through plain and wood and meadow.

The sun's red, glowing disc had now sunk down
Full low, and with his purple light he coloured
The trees and all the flowers and the river,
Which in the distance rolled majestic on.
Maria sudden cried: " See you how shimmers
The great gold eye in yonder azure water? "
" Silence, poor thing! " I said. And I beheld then
A wondrous pageant floating in the twilight.
For misty shapes were rising from the meadows,
Circling each other in their soft white arms.
The violets sweetly looked on each other;
The lily-bells bowed, each to each, enamoured;
A glow of pleasure crimsoned all the roses;

A flame seemed burning in the pinks' hot breath;
The flowers all revelled in the rapturous odours,
And all were weeping quiet tears of joy,
And all in chorus chanted, " Love, love, love! "
The butterflies were fluttering, and the brilliant
Gold-beetles hummed their fairy lays together.
The evening breezes whispered in the oaks,
The nightingale sang with voluptuous languor.
'Midst all this sound of whispering, rustling, singing,
The faded woman hanging on my arm there
Chattered with leaden, toneless voice and frigid,
" I know your nightly doings at the castle.
" The lanky-shadow" 's a good-natured fool;
He nods and bows to everything you want.
" The Blue-coat" is an angel; but the red one,
With shining sword, he hates you like the devil. "
And many other incoherent stories
She babbled of, until at last she sat,
Quite wearied, down with me on the green hillock
That stands beneath the aged oak-tree's branches,
And there we sat together, still and mournful,
Gazed each on each, with growing melancholy.
Like to a dying man the oak-tree sighed,
And shrill with pain the nightingale wailed from it.
But then, rays of red light streamed through the leaves,
And played around Maria's visage pale,
And waked a glow within her stony eyes.
And with her old sweet voice she said to me:
" How knewest thou, then, that I was so wretched,
As I have lately read in thy wild songs? "

A chill shot through my breast. I stood in awe,
Seared by my frenzy, which could thus
Foresee the future; darkness fell upon my brain,
And in my terror I awoke from sleep.