A Kentucky Grave
There lies a lonely grave beneath tall trees
In that fair State where birds afire flash
Above the azure-purpled waves of grass.
Upon the nameless stone is but a date,
Mid-June, when all Kentucky's loveliness
Was at its full, and on a year before
The cruel war had ravaged the sweet South.
But though no word is on the barren stone,
The legend runs that one both fair and young—
Ah! passing fair and brimmed with eager youth—
Lies cold and still and nameless 'neath the sod.
For in that year the old-time hostelry,
That still stands by the mound where she is laid,
Was gay with dance, and song, and revelry,
And all the Blue Grass State had gathered there
As they were wont to do in other days.
On that warm mid-June night, all suddenly,
She stood within the hall, while her dark maid
With coal-black hands unloosed the fleecy cloak,
And every eye was drawn unto the gleam
Of jewels at her waist and round her throat
That seemed a lily, dew-dropped in the dawn.
Her strange dark eyes were flashing jewels, too,
Set in the pallor of her dreamy face
That turned to one as though his life was hers.
Now, as the rhythmic music of the dance
Fell on her ears, her eyes sought his and sank
Into their depths as one who drowning steeps
His failing memory in things best loved—
Then slowly to the soft and sensuous sound
Of flute and viol and of violin,
They floated in a circled harmony;
And in her eyes one saw the love that leaned
And lavished everything, and on her lips
An evanescent smile that came and went.
She seemed a pure white flame of loveliness!
The music ceased, and as the last sweet note
Wafted away to star-lit depths of June,
She sank, and swooned in sinking, to the floor
And died, without a murmur, in his arms.
They laid her on a snow-white couch, and left
Her weeping woman crouching at her feet,
And her dark lover kneeling with her hand—
Listless as lily when the dew is gone—
Clasped in his own to watch the weary night.
But when the dawn broke, lo! they found her there
In utter loneliness, for both had fled!
So runs the story—none have ever heard
More than these lines have told, and thus the stone
Bears nothing on it but the lonely date,
And all who come must listen to the tale.
One, learning of the legend, lays a rose
Upon the mound and leaves the gift of tears
To keep its petals fresh, because of grief
That one so young should perish ere the bud
Had fully flowered in its blossoming.
Ah, happy heart that weeps at such a fate!
But still another comes, with laggard step
And eyes opaque from disillusion's blow,
Whose lips once long ago knew laughter well,
Now parched with pallid parody of mirth
And curved with scorn that any pity one
Who never can know aught but Youth and Faith—
Ah, bitter heart that smiles at such a fate!
And we who ponder on the twice-told tale,
Shall we then laugh, or weep, or turn aside,
Perchance, and envy her? Had she not lived—
She who had loved, and danced, and dreamed, and died,
Like some resplendent butterfly that wings
To immortality in one brief hour!
In that fair State where birds afire flash
Above the azure-purpled waves of grass.
Upon the nameless stone is but a date,
Mid-June, when all Kentucky's loveliness
Was at its full, and on a year before
The cruel war had ravaged the sweet South.
But though no word is on the barren stone,
The legend runs that one both fair and young—
Ah! passing fair and brimmed with eager youth—
Lies cold and still and nameless 'neath the sod.
For in that year the old-time hostelry,
That still stands by the mound where she is laid,
Was gay with dance, and song, and revelry,
And all the Blue Grass State had gathered there
As they were wont to do in other days.
On that warm mid-June night, all suddenly,
She stood within the hall, while her dark maid
With coal-black hands unloosed the fleecy cloak,
And every eye was drawn unto the gleam
Of jewels at her waist and round her throat
That seemed a lily, dew-dropped in the dawn.
Her strange dark eyes were flashing jewels, too,
Set in the pallor of her dreamy face
That turned to one as though his life was hers.
Now, as the rhythmic music of the dance
Fell on her ears, her eyes sought his and sank
Into their depths as one who drowning steeps
His failing memory in things best loved—
Then slowly to the soft and sensuous sound
Of flute and viol and of violin,
They floated in a circled harmony;
And in her eyes one saw the love that leaned
And lavished everything, and on her lips
An evanescent smile that came and went.
She seemed a pure white flame of loveliness!
The music ceased, and as the last sweet note
Wafted away to star-lit depths of June,
She sank, and swooned in sinking, to the floor
And died, without a murmur, in his arms.
They laid her on a snow-white couch, and left
Her weeping woman crouching at her feet,
And her dark lover kneeling with her hand—
Listless as lily when the dew is gone—
Clasped in his own to watch the weary night.
But when the dawn broke, lo! they found her there
In utter loneliness, for both had fled!
So runs the story—none have ever heard
More than these lines have told, and thus the stone
Bears nothing on it but the lonely date,
And all who come must listen to the tale.
One, learning of the legend, lays a rose
Upon the mound and leaves the gift of tears
To keep its petals fresh, because of grief
That one so young should perish ere the bud
Had fully flowered in its blossoming.
Ah, happy heart that weeps at such a fate!
But still another comes, with laggard step
And eyes opaque from disillusion's blow,
Whose lips once long ago knew laughter well,
Now parched with pallid parody of mirth
And curved with scorn that any pity one
Who never can know aught but Youth and Faith—
Ah, bitter heart that smiles at such a fate!
And we who ponder on the twice-told tale,
Shall we then laugh, or weep, or turn aside,
Perchance, and envy her? Had she not lived—
She who had loved, and danced, and dreamed, and died,
Like some resplendent butterfly that wings
To immortality in one brief hour!
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