A Faded Glove
MY little granddaughter, who fain would know
Why, folded close in scented satin fine,
I keep a relic faded long ago,
This pearl-gray, dainty, withered glove of mine,
Listen: I’ll tell you. It is fifty years
Since the fair day I laid my treasure here.
But yesterday to me the time appears;
Ages ago to you, I know, my dear.
Upon this palm, now withered as my cheek,
Love laid his first kiss, doubting and afraid:
Oh, swift and strong across me while I speak
Comes memory of Love’s might, my little maid!
I yet was so unconscious! 'T was a night —
Some festal night; my sisters were above,
Not ready quite; but I, cloaked all in white,
Waited below, and, fastening my glove,
Looked up with smiling speech to him who stood
Observing me, so still and so intent,
I wondered somewhat at his quiet mood,
Till it flashed on me what the silence meant.
What sudden fire of dawn my sky o’erspread!
What low melodious thunder broke my calm!
Could I be dreaming that this glorious head
Was bending low above my girlish palm?
His majesty of mien proclaimed him king;
His lowly gesture said, “I am your slave;”
Beneath my feet the firm earth seemed to swing,
Unstable as storm-driven wind and wave.
Ah, beautiful and terrible and sweet
The matchless moment! Was it life or death,
Or day or night? For my heart ceased to beat,
And heaven and earth changed in a single breath.
And, like a harp some hand of power doth smite
To sudden harmony, my soul awoke,
And, answering, rose to match his spirit’s height,
While not a word the mystic silence broke.
'T was but an instant. Down the echoing stair
Swept voices, laughter, wafts of melody, —
My sisters three, in draperies light as air;
But like a dream the whole world seemed to me,
As, steadying my whirling thoughts, I strove
To grasp a truth so wondrous, so divine.
I shut this hand, this little tinted glove,
To keep its secret mine, and only mine.
And like an empty show the brilliant hours
Passed by, with beauty, music, pleasure thronged,
Phantasmagoria of light and flowers;
But only one delight to me belonged,
One thought, one wish, one hope, one joy, one fear,
One dizzy rapture, one star in the sky, —
The solemn sky that bent to bring God near:
I would have been content that night to die.
Only a touch upon this little glove,
And, lo, the lofty marvel which it wrought!
You wonder; for as yet you know not love,
Oh, sweet my child, my lily yet unsought!
The glove is faded, but immortal joy
Lives in the kiss; its memory cannot fade;
And when Death’s clasp this pale hand shall destroy,
The sacred glove shall in my grave be laid.
