How long will you hold back, belov'd? How long
Leave the supreme, the final word unspoken?
The barrier of silence hold unbroken?
Men—you, too, being a man—have called you strong,
A doer of big deeds, great acts. But they are wrong.
You lack in courage. I, being woman, know
How often woman shapes man's enterprises,
Cloaking her work in manifold disguises
Lest he should chafe too large a debt to owe—
Strikes every blow up to the very hundredth blow
That shall at last resolve, achieve, complete
The foregone nine-and-ninety. This, grown wiser,
She leaves with him for fear he should despise her.
_He_ wins the credit for the final feat—
Thought of _his_ triumph, not hers, made all her toiling sweet.
Belov'd, how long before you understand?
Why, I have known two years you were my lover,
That all my being to yours was given over!
The thing your heart most yearns for lies at hand
Awaiting only this, that you shall make demand.
Have I not worked for all betwixt us two
Since first I saw your love spring into being,
And you became too faint of heart for seeing
That the one peach you longed to garner grew,
Ripened, and mellowed here only for you, for you?
You would have drawn abashed from out my life
Had I permitted; it became _my_ mission
To bring the golden moment to fruition
Through, ah, how many hours of wistful strife
With you, who guessed not, even, the tender struggle rife
Between us. When I met you with a smile,
"Love's not for me," you thought, "yet while she kindly
Still looks and speaks, I'll stay." And went thus blindly
Taking for innocence what sprang from guile
That I might hold you by me just a little while.
The day I dropped a flower upon the path,
Did you not know it was the thing I aimed for
When you behind me loitered (somewhat lamed for
A good excuse), secured it free from scath
And hid it close, to reap therefrom love's aftermath
In hours when I was absent? Why, I _meant_,
Belov'd, that you should have this one flower-treasure
(Stolen, you thought!) out of my heart's full measure—
Meant that your solitary nights be spent
Cheek to its petals pressed where all my love lay pent.
And then, the day you helped me from the boat,
"It is but chance," you thought, "I hold her fingers
In mine past custom's limit, while she lingers
To cull the waterlily there afloat."
It was not chance, belov'd. And still you would not note.
I have done all a woman may do, dear,
With eyes and hands and tones of voice have spoken,
In all but words have given you the token
And seal of love. What is it then you fear?
Can you not take one step, the goal being now so near?
Just the last word to utter, just the last
Step to be taken—it is very little!
Can you believe Love's structure is so brittle?
All I have builded in these two years past
Fall tottering at one word? It is of stronger cast.
You would not have me speak. That part is yours.
My share is finished and I wait for you now.
The time to act has come—what will you do now?
Dear, even I'd say the word that all ensures
But that were more than love itself of love endures.
I had to spend my strength when you were weak,
Be guide along the road from its beginning
To the last barrier. Am I worth the winning?
But _you_ must turn the key. It will not creak.
Beloved, I am waiting still ... will you not speak?