<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413304" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Malcolm's Katie: A Love Story - Part III.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The great farm house of Malcolm Graem stood<br>Square shoulder'd and peak roof'd upon a hill,<br>With many windows looking everywhere;<br>So that no distant meadow might lie hid,<br>Nor corn-field hide its gold--nor lowing herd<br>Browse in far pastures, out of Malcolm's ken.<br>He lov'd to sit, grim, grey, and somewhat stern,<br>And thro' the smoke-clouds from his short clay pipe<br>Look out upon his riches; while his thoughts<br>Swung back and forth between the bleak, stern past,<br>And the near future, for his life had come<br>To that close balance, when, a pendulum,<br>The memory swings between me 'Then' and 'Now';<br>His seldom speech ran thus two diff'rent ways:<br>'When I was but a laddie, this I did';<br>Or, 'Katie, in the Fall I'll see to build<br>'Such fences or such sheds about the place;<br>'And next year, please the Lord, another barn.'<br>Katie's gay garden foam'd about the walls,<br>'Leagur'd the prim-cut modern sills, and rush'd<br>Up the stone walls--and broke on the peak'd roof.<br>And Katie's lawn was like a Poet's sward,<br>Velvet and sheer and di'monded with dew;<br>For such as win their wealth most aptly take<br>Smooth, urban ways and blend them with their own;<br>And Katie's dainty raiment was as fine<br>As the smooth, silken petals of the rose;<br>And her light feet, her nimble mind and voice,<br>In city schools had learn'd the city's ways,<br>And grafts upon the healthy, lonely vine<br>They shone, eternal blossoms 'mid the fruit.<br>For Katie had her sceptre in her hand<br>And wielded it right queenly there and here,<br>In dairy, store-room, kitchen--ev'ry spot<br>Where women's ways were needed on the place.<br>And Malcolm took her through his mighty fields,<br>And taught her lore about the change of crops;<br>And how to see a handsome furrow plough'd;<br>And how to choose the cattle for the mart;<br>And how to know a fair day's work when done;<br>And where to plant young orchards; for he said,<br>'God sent a lassie, but I need a son--<br>'Bethankit for His mercies all the same.'<br>And Katie, when he said it, thought of Max--<br>Who had been gone two winters and two springs,<br>And sigh'd, and thought, 'Would he not be your son?'<br>But all in silence, for she had too much<br>Of the firm will of Malcolm in her soul<br>To think of shaking that deep-rooted rock;<br>But hop'd the crystal current of his love<br>For his one child, increasing day by day,<br>Might fret with silver lip, until it wore<br>Such channels thro' the rock, that some slight stroke<br>Of circumstance might crumble down the stone.<br>The wooer, too, had come, Max prophesied;<br>Reputed wealthy; with the azure eyes<br>And Saxon-gilded locks--the fair, clear face,<br>And stalwart form that most women love.<br>And with the jewels of some virtues set<br>On his broad brow. With fires within his soul<br>He had the wizard skill to fetter down<br>To that mere pink, poetic, nameless glow,<br>That need not fright a flake of snow away--<br>But if unloos'd, could melt an adverse rock<br>Marrow'd with iron, frowning in his way.<br>And Malcolm balanc'd him by day and night;<br>And with his grey-ey'd shrewdness partly saw<br>He was not one for Kate; but let him come,<br>And in chance moments thought: 'Well, let it be--<br>'They make a bonnie pair--he knows the ways<br>'Of men and things: can hold the gear I give,<br>'And, if the lassie wills it, let it be.'<br>And then, upstarting from his midnight sleep,<br>With hair erect and sweat upon his brow,<br>Such as no labor e'er had beaded there;<br>Would cry aloud, wide-staring thro' the dark--<br>'Nay, nay; she shall not wed him--rest in peace.'<br>Then fully waking, grimly laugh and say:<br>'Why did I speak and answer when none spake?'<br>But still lie staring, wakeful, through the shades;<br>List'ning to the silence, and beating still<br>The ball of Alfred's merits to and fro--<br>Saying, between the silent arguments:<br>'But would the mother like it, could she know?<br>'I would there was a way to ring a lad<br>'Like silver coin, and so find out the true;<br>'But Kate shall say him 'Nay' or say him 'Yea'<br>'At her own will.' And Katie said him 'Nay,'<br>In all the maiden, speechless, gentle ways<br>A woman has. But Alfred only laugh'd<br>To his own soul, and said in his wall'd mind:<br>'O, Kate, were I a lover, I might feel<br>'Despair flap o'er my hopes with raven wings;<br>'Because thy love is giv'n to other love.<br>'And did I love--unless I gain'd thy love,<br>'I would disdain the golden hair, sweet lips,<br>'Air-blown form and true violet eyes;<br>'Nor crave the beauteous lamp without the flame;<br>'Which in itself would light a charnel house.<br>'Unlov'd and loving, I would find the cure<br>'Of Love's despair in nursing Love's disdain--<br>'Disdain of lesser treasure than the whole.<br>'One cares not much to place against the wheel<br>'A diamond lacking flame--nor loves to pluck<br>'A rose with all its perfume cast abroad<br>'To the bosom of the gale. Not I, in truth!<br>'If all man's days are three score years and ten,<br>'He needs must waste them not, but nimbly seize<br>'The bright consummate blossom that his will<br>'Calls for most loudly. Gone, long gone the days<br>'When Love within my soul for ever stretch'd<br>'Fierce hands of flame, and here and there I found<br>'A blossom fitted for him--all up-fill'd<br>'With love as with clear dew--they had their hour<br>'And burn'd to ashes with him, as he droop'd<br>'In his own ruby fires. No Phoenix he,<br>'To rise again because of Katie's eyes,<br>'On dewy wings, from ashes such as his!<br>'But now, another Passion bids me forth.<br>'To crown him with the fairest I can find,<br>'And makes me lover--not of Katie's face,<br>'But of her father's riches! O, high fool,<br>'Who feels the faintest pulsing of a wish<br>'And fails to feed it into lordly life!<br>'So that, when stumbling back to Mother Earth,<br>'His freezing lip may curl in cold disdain<br>'Of those poor, blighted fools who starward stare<br>'For that fruition, nipp'd and scanted here.<br>'And, while the clay, o'ermasters all his blood--<br>'And he can feel the dust knit with his flesh--<br>'He yet can say to them, 'Be ye content;<br>''I tasted perfect fruitage thro' my life,<br>''Lighted all lamps of passion, till the oil<br>''Fail'd from their wicks; and now, O now, I know<br>''There is no Immortality could give<br>''Such boon as this--to simply cease to be!<br>''_There_ lies your Heaven, O ye dreaming slaves,<br>''If ye would only live to make it so;<br>''Nor paint upon the blue skies lying shades<br>''Of--_what is not_. Wise, wise and strong the man<br>''who poisons that fond haunter of the mind,<br>''Craving for a hereafter with deep draughts<br>''Of wild delights--so fiery, fierce, and strong,<br>''That when their dregs are deeply, deeply drain'd,<br>''What once was blindly crav'd of purblind Chance,<br>''Life, life eternal--throbbing thro' all space<br>''Is strongly loath'd--and with his face in dust,<br>''Man loves his only Heav'n--six feet of Earth!'<br>'So, Katie, tho' your blue eyes say me 'Nay,'<br>'My pangs of love for gold must needs be fed,<br>'And shall be, Katie, if I know my mind.'<br>Events were winds close nest'ling in the sails<br>Of Alfred's bark, all blowing him direct<br>To his wish'd harbour. On a certain day,<br>All set about with roses and with fire;<br>One of three days of heat which frequent slip,<br>Like triple rubies, in between the sweet,<br>Mild, emerald days of summer, Katie went,<br>Drawn by a yearning for the ice-pale blooms,<br>Natant and shining--firing all the bay<br>With angel fires built up of snow and gold.<br>She found the bay close pack'd with groaning logs,<br>Prison'd between great arms of close hing'd wood.<br>All cut from Malcolm's forests in the west,<br>And floated hither to his noisy mills;<br>And all stamp'd with the potent 'G.' and 'M.,'<br>Which much he lov'd to see upon his goods,<br>The silent courtiers owning him their king.<br>Out clear beyond the rustling ricebeds sang,<br>And the cool lilies starr'd the shadow'd wave.<br>'This is a day for lily-love,' said Kate,<br>While she made bare the lilies of her feet;<br>And sang a lily song that Max had made,<br>That spoke of lilies--always meaning Kate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'While Lady of the silver'd lakes,<br>Chaste Goddess of the sweet, still shrines.<br>The jocund river fitful makes,<br>By sudden, deep gloom'd brakes,<br>Close shelter'd by close weft and woof of vine,<br>Spilling a shadow gloomy-rich as wine,<br>Into the silver throne where thou dost sit,<br>Thy silken leaves all dusky round thee knit!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Mild soul of the unsalted wave!<br>White bosom holding golden fire<br>Deep as some ocean-hidden cave<br>Are fix'd the roots of thy desire,<br>Thro' limpid currents stealing up,<br>And rounding to the pearly cup<br>Thou dost desire,<br>With all thy trembling heart of sinless fire,<br>But to be fill'd<br>With dew distill'd<br>From clear, fond skies, that in their gloom<br>Hold, floating high, thy sister moon,<br>Pale chalice of a sweet perfume,<br>Whiter-breasted than a dove--<br>To thee the dew is--love!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Kate bared her little feet, and pois'd herself<br>On the first log close grating on the shore;<br>And with bright eyes of laughter, and wild hair--<br>A flying wind of gold--from log to log<br>Sped, laughing as they wallow'd in her track,<br>Like brown-scal'd monsters rolling, as her foot<br>Spurn'd each in turn with its rose-white sole.<br>A little island, out in middlewave,<br>With its green shoulder held the great drive brac'd<br>Between it and the mainland; here it was<br>The silver lilies drew her with white smiles;<br>And as she touch'd the last great log of all,<br>It reel'd, upstarting, like a column brac'd,<br>A second on the wave--and when it plung'd<br>Rolling upon the froth and sudden foam,<br>Katie had vanish'd, and with angry grind<br>The vast logs roll'd together,--nor a lock<br>Of drifting yellow hair--an upflung hand,<br>Told where the rich man's chiefest treasure sank<br>Under his wooden wealth. But Alfred, laid<br>With pipe and book upon the shady marge,<br>Of the cool isle, saw all, and seeing hurl'd<br>Himself, and hardly knew it, on the logs;<br>By happy chance a shallow lapp'd the isle<br>On this green bank; and when his iron arms<br>Dash'd the bark'd monsters, as frail stems of rice,<br>A little space apart, the soft, slow tide<br>But reach'd his chest, and in a flash he saw<br>Kate's yellow hair, and by it drew her up,<br>And lifting her aloft, cried out, 'O, Kate!'<br>And once again said, 'Katie! is she dead?'<br>For like the lilies broken by the rough<br>And sudden riot of the armor'd logs,<br>Kate lay upon his hands; and now the logs<br>Clos'd in upon him, nipping his great chest,<br>Nor could he move to push them off again<br>For Katie in his arms. 'And now,' he said,<br>'If none should come, and any wind arise<br>'To weld these woody monsters 'gainst the isle,<br>'I shall be crack'd like any broken twig;<br>'And as it is, I know not if I die,<br>'For I am hurt--aye, sorely, sorely hurt!'<br>Then look'd on Katie's lily face, and said,<br>'Dead, dead or living? Why, an even chance.<br>'O lovely bubble on a troubl'd sea,<br>'I would not thou shoulds't lose thyself again<br>'In the black ocean whence thy life emerg'd,<br>'But skyward steal on gales as soft as love,<br>'And hang in some bright rainbow overhead,<br>'If only such bright rainbow spann'd the earth.'<br>Then shouted loudly, till the silent air<br>Rous'd like a frighten'd bird, and on its wings<br>Caught up his cry and bore it to the farm.<br>There Malcolm, leaping from his noontide sleep,<br>Upstarted as at midnight, crying out,<br>'She shall not wed him--rest you, wife, in peace!'<br>They found him, Alfred, haggard-ey'd and faint,<br>But holding Katie ever towards the sun,<br>Unhurt, and waking in the fervent heat.<br>And now it came that Alfred being sick<br>Of his sharp hurts and tended by them both,<br>With what was like to love, being born of thanks,<br>Had choice of hours most politic to woo,<br>And used his deed as one might use the sun,<br>To ripen unmellow'd fruit; and from the core<br>Of Katie's gratitude hop'd yet to nurse<br>A flow'r all to his liking--Katie's love.<br>But Katie's mind was like the plain, broad shield<br>Of a table di'mond, nor had a score of sides;<br>And in its shield, so precious and so plain,<br>Was cut, thro' all its clear depths--Max's name!<br>And so she said him 'Nay' at last, in words<br>Of such true sounding silver, that he knew<br>He might not win her at the present hour,<br>But smil'd and thought--'I go, and come again!<br>'Then shall we see. Our three-score years and ten<br>'Are mines of treasure, if we hew them deep,<br>'Nor stop too long in choosing out our tools!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Isabella+Valancy+Crawford">Isabella Valancy Crawford</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413304" data-title="Malcolm's Katie: A Love Story - Part III. de Isabella Valancy Crawford" data-description="The great farm house of Malcolm Graem stood Square shoulder'd and peak roof'd upon a hill, With many windows looking everywhere; So that no distant meadow might lie hid, Nor corn-field hide its gold--nor lowing herd Browse in far pastures, out of ..."></div> </div> </div>

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