THE BLIND GIRL
If I might see his face to-day!—He is so happy now!—To hearHis laugh is like a roundelay—So ringing-sweet and clear!His step—I heard it long beforeHe bounded through the open doorTo tell his marriage.—Ah! so kind—So good he is!—And I—so blind!But thus he always came to me—Me, first of all, he used to bringHis sorrow to—his ecstasy—His hopes and everything;And if I joyed with him or wept,It was not longthe musicslept,—And if he sung, or if I played—Or both,—we were the braver made.I grew to know and understandHis every word at every call,—The gate-latch hinted, and his handIn mine confessed it all:He need not speak one word to me—He need not sigh—I need not see,—But just the one touch of his palm,And I would answer—song or psalm.He wanted recognition—name—He hungered so for higher things,—The altitudes of power and fame,And all that fortune brings:Till, with his great heart fevered thus,And aching as impetuous,I almost wished sometimes thatheWere blind and patient made, like me.But he has won!—I knew he would.—Once in the mighty Eastern mart,I knew his music only couldBe sung in every heart!And when he proudly sent me thisFrom out the great metropolis,I bent above the graven scoreAnd, weeping, kissed it o’er and o’er.—And yet not blither sing the birdsThan this glad melody,—the tuneAs sweetly wedded with the wordsAs flowers with middle-June;Had he nottoldme, I had knownIt was composed of love alone—His love forher.—And she can seeHis happy face eternally!—WhileI—O God, forgive, I pray!—Forgive me that I did so longTo look upon his face to-day!—I know the wish was wrong.—Yea, I am thankful that my sightIs shielded safe from such delight:—I can pray better, with this blurOf blindness—both for him and her.
If I might see his face to-day!—He is so happy now!—To hearHis laugh is like a roundelay—So ringing-sweet and clear!His step—I heard it long beforeHe bounded through the open doorTo tell his marriage.—Ah! so kind—So good he is!—And I—so blind!But thus he always came to me—Me, first of all, he used to bringHis sorrow to—his ecstasy—His hopes and everything;And if I joyed with him or wept,It was not longthe musicslept,—And if he sung, or if I played—Or both,—we were the braver made.I grew to know and understandHis every word at every call,—The gate-latch hinted, and his handIn mine confessed it all:He need not speak one word to me—He need not sigh—I need not see,—But just the one touch of his palm,And I would answer—song or psalm.He wanted recognition—name—He hungered so for higher things,—The altitudes of power and fame,And all that fortune brings:Till, with his great heart fevered thus,And aching as impetuous,I almost wished sometimes thatheWere blind and patient made, like me.But he has won!—I knew he would.—Once in the mighty Eastern mart,I knew his music only couldBe sung in every heart!And when he proudly sent me thisFrom out the great metropolis,I bent above the graven scoreAnd, weeping, kissed it o’er and o’er.—And yet not blither sing the birdsThan this glad melody,—the tuneAs sweetly wedded with the wordsAs flowers with middle-June;Had he nottoldme, I had knownIt was composed of love alone—His love forher.—And she can seeHis happy face eternally!—WhileI—O God, forgive, I pray!—Forgive me that I did so longTo look upon his face to-day!—I know the wish was wrong.—Yea, I am thankful that my sightIs shielded safe from such delight:—I can pray better, with this blurOf blindness—both for him and her.
If I might see his face to-day!—He is so happy now!—To hearHis laugh is like a roundelay—So ringing-sweet and clear!His step—I heard it long beforeHe bounded through the open doorTo tell his marriage.—Ah! so kind—So good he is!—And I—so blind!
If I might see his face to-day!—
He is so happy now!—To hear
His laugh is like a roundelay—
So ringing-sweet and clear!
His step—I heard it long before
He bounded through the open door
To tell his marriage.—Ah! so kind—
So good he is!—And I—so blind!
But thus he always came to me—Me, first of all, he used to bringHis sorrow to—his ecstasy—His hopes and everything;And if I joyed with him or wept,It was not longthe musicslept,—And if he sung, or if I played—Or both,—we were the braver made.
But thus he always came to me—
Me, first of all, he used to bring
His sorrow to—his ecstasy—
His hopes and everything;
And if I joyed with him or wept,
It was not longthe musicslept,—
And if he sung, or if I played—
Or both,—we were the braver made.
I grew to know and understandHis every word at every call,—The gate-latch hinted, and his handIn mine confessed it all:He need not speak one word to me—He need not sigh—I need not see,—But just the one touch of his palm,And I would answer—song or psalm.
I grew to know and understand
His every word at every call,—
The gate-latch hinted, and his hand
In mine confessed it all:
He need not speak one word to me—
He need not sigh—I need not see,—
But just the one touch of his palm,
And I would answer—song or psalm.
He wanted recognition—name—He hungered so for higher things,—The altitudes of power and fame,And all that fortune brings:Till, with his great heart fevered thus,And aching as impetuous,I almost wished sometimes thatheWere blind and patient made, like me.
He wanted recognition—name—
He hungered so for higher things,—
The altitudes of power and fame,
And all that fortune brings:
Till, with his great heart fevered thus,
And aching as impetuous,
I almost wished sometimes thathe
Were blind and patient made, like me.
But he has won!—I knew he would.—Once in the mighty Eastern mart,I knew his music only couldBe sung in every heart!And when he proudly sent me thisFrom out the great metropolis,I bent above the graven scoreAnd, weeping, kissed it o’er and o’er.—
But he has won!—I knew he would.—
Once in the mighty Eastern mart,
I knew his music only could
Be sung in every heart!
And when he proudly sent me this
From out the great metropolis,
I bent above the graven score
And, weeping, kissed it o’er and o’er.—
And yet not blither sing the birdsThan this glad melody,—the tuneAs sweetly wedded with the wordsAs flowers with middle-June;Had he nottoldme, I had knownIt was composed of love alone—His love forher.—And she can seeHis happy face eternally!—
And yet not blither sing the birds
Than this glad melody,—the tune
As sweetly wedded with the words
As flowers with middle-June;
Had he nottoldme, I had known
It was composed of love alone—
His love forher.—And she can see
His happy face eternally!—
WhileI—O God, forgive, I pray!—Forgive me that I did so longTo look upon his face to-day!—I know the wish was wrong.—Yea, I am thankful that my sightIs shielded safe from such delight:—I can pray better, with this blurOf blindness—both for him and her.
WhileI—O God, forgive, I pray!—
Forgive me that I did so long
To look upon his face to-day!—
I know the wish was wrong.—
Yea, I am thankful that my sight
Is shielded safe from such delight:—
I can pray better, with this blur
Of blindness—both for him and her.