No More Learning

_

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.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _

Here stands the great tree, still. But age has crept
Through every coil, while Walt each night has kept
The tryst alone. Hark! with what windy might
The boughs chant o'er her grave their burial-rite!
_And the moon hangs low in the elm.