No More Learning

For this her sweetness Walt, her lover, sought
To win her; wooed her here, his heart o'er fraught
With fragrance of her being; and gained his plea.
So "We will wed," they said, "beneath this tree. "
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _

Yet dreams of conquering greater prize for her
Roused his wild spirit with a glittering spur.
Eager for wealth, far, far from home he sailed;
And life paused;--while she watched joy vanish, veiled.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _

Ah, better at the elm-tree's sunbrowned feet
If he had been content to let life fleet
Its wonted way! --lord of his little farm,
In zest of joys or cares unmixed with harm.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _

For, as against a snarling sea one steers,
He battled vainly with the surging years;
While ever Jessamine must watch and pine,
Her vision bounded by the bleak sea-line.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _

Then silence fell; and all the neighbors said
That Walt had married, faithless, or was dead:
Unmoved in constancy, her tryst she kept,
Each night beneath the tree, ere sorrow slept.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _

So, circling years went by, till in her face
Slow melancholy wrought a mingled grace,
Of early joy with suffering's hard alloy--
Refined and rare, no doom could e'er destroy.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm.
_

Sometimes at twilight, when sweet Jessamine
Slow-footed, weary-eyed, passed by to win
The elm, we smiled for pity of her, and mused
On love that so could live, with love refused.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _

And none could hope for her. But she had grown
Too high in love, for hope. She bloomed alone,
Aloft in proud devotion; and secure
Against despair; so sweet her faith, so sure.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _

Her wandering lover knew not well her soul.
Discouraged, on disaster's changing shoal
Stranding, he waited; starved on selfish pride,
Long years; nor would obey love's homeward tide.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _

But, bitterly repenting of his sin,
Deeper at last he learned to look within
Sweet Jessamine's true heart--when the past, dead,
Mocked him with wasted years forever fled.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _

Late, late, oh late, beneath the tree stood two;
In trembling joy, and wondering "Is it true? "--
Two that were each like some strange, misty wraith:
Yet each on each gazed with a living faith.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _

Even to the tree-top sang the wedding-bell:
Even to the tree-top tolled the passing knell.
Beneath it Walt and Jessamine were wed,
Beneath it many a year has she lain dead.