A False Maiden Poem by Timothy Thomas Fortune

I.
Here is the oak beneath whose friendly shade
We spent one charming, fleeting, Summer day,
And talked the gathering gloom of woe away—
Duping ourselves that earth for us was made
A fairy land, where we might hope and pray
A path of peaceful love before us lay,
Leading to some rare spot, where ne'er could fade
The vows for which we had so dearly paid.
But all is changed! The Oak remains as then—
And I remain! But, where, O where! art thou?
Gone—vanished as a vision! Doubt I, when
I look around, if we, as I do now,
E'er stood together here, and dreamed that earth
Held other than a curse for our love's birth.

II.
Yes, changes came; and circumstance, or fate,
Hath led us far apart, and made the past
But as a memory—which, yet, will last,
Surviving all, and bidding me to wait,
And trust, and brave the angry skies o'ercast,
As storm-tossed sailors lash them to the mast,
Hoping 'gainst hope all will be well, and late,
But sure, return to me my long-lost mate!
So spreads the prospect to the anxious eye!
So stilled is Reason's cold but friendly voice!
The storm-charged clouds may hide the gorgeous sky,
But soon the sunshine comes, and we rejoice!
And love will hope when hope is bruised and dead
And all but mem'ry of the past hath fled!

III.
The dream has ended, as a tale that's told!
The past is dead—aye, dead!—and nevermore
Shall you and I be as we were before
The dream, once young, grew commonplace and old.
Whence vanished it—aye, to what blissful shore?
But, still, the love that I for you once bore
Is warm, and never, never, can grow cold,
E'en though you sell yourself for serpent gold.
A thing that I have loved can I e'er hate?
Not so! A sacred thing must it remain
While I, through sun and shadow, wait and wait,
The coming of the hour when, free from pain,
I pass away—as things of earth must do—
True, even though you are to me untrue.

IV.
Go, then! I will not, would not, bid you stay!
Go, reap the agony and pain that lower,
And ever lower, upon the fatal hour
When selfishness alone points out the way
That leads to Love's retreat, its sacred bower!
Go! oh, remember, I have not the power,
If you would go, to bid you longer stay!
Leave me in life's fierce storm to bend and cower!
True, I have loved you well and loved you long,
And followed you where'er, afar, you went,
Followed in thought and silent prayer and song—
Followed you still with hope, and discontent.
Enough! The Fates decree! The past—is past!
Know you, false one, it was too sweet to last?