Here stands the great tree still, with broad, bent head,
And wide arms grown aweary, yet outspread
With their old blessing. But wan memory weaves
Strange garlands now amongst the darkening leaves.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm_.
Beneath these glimmering arches Jessamine
Walked with her lover long ago, and in
This moon-made shade he questioned; and she spoke:
Then on them both love's rarer radiance broke.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm_.
Sweet Jessamine we called her; for she shone
Like blossoms that in sun and shade have grown,
Gathering from each alike a perfect white,
Whose rich bloom breaks opaque through darkest night.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm_.
And for this sweetness Walt, her lover, sought
To win her; wooed her here, his heart full-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_.
Was it unfaith, or faith more full to her,
Made him, for fame and fortune longing, spur
Into the world? Far from his home he sailed:
And life paused; while she watched joy vanish, vailed.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm_.
Oh, better at the elm tree's sun-browned feet
If he had been content to let life fleet
Its wonted way!--there rearing his small house;
Mowing and milking, lord of corn and cows!
_And the moon hangs low in the elm_.
For as against a snarling sea one steers,
Ever he battled with the beetling years;
And ever Jessamine must watch and pine,
Her vision bounded by the bleak sea-line.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm_.
At last she heard no more. The neighbors said
That Walt had married, faithless, or was dead.
Yet naught her trust could move; the tryst she kept
Each night still, 'neath this tree, before she slept.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm._
So, circling years went by; and in her face
Slow melancholy wrought a tempered grace
Of early joy with sorrow's rich alloy--
Refinèd, rare, no doom should 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._
Nor none could hope for her. But she had grown
Too high in love for hope, and bloomed alone,
Aloft in pure sincerity secure;
For fortune's failures, in her faith too sure.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm._
Oh, well for Walt, if he had known her soul!
Discouraged on disaster's changeful shoal
Wrecking, he rested; 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,
Oh, bitterly he learned to look within
Sweet Jessamine's clear depth--when the past, dead,
Mocked him, and wild, waste years forever fled!
_And the moon hangs low in the elm._
Late, late, oh, late beneath the tree stood two!
In awe and anguish wondering: "Is it true?"
Two that were each most like to some wan wraith:
Yet each on each looked 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 she lieth 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. _