THE BROKEN TRYST
by: Arthur Symons
- HAT day a fire was in my blood;
- I could have sung: joy wrapt me round;
- The men I met seemed all so good,
- I scarcely knew I trod the ground.
- How easy seemed all toil! I laughed
- To think that once I hated it.
- The sunlight thrilled like wine, I quaffed
- Delight, divine and infinite.
- The very day was not too long;
- I felt so patient; I could wait,
- Being certain. So, the hours in song
- Chimed out the minutes of my fate.
- For she was coming, she, at last,
- I knew: I knew that bolts and bars
- Could stay her not; my heart throbbed fast,
- I was not more certain of the stars.
- The twilight came, grew deeper; now
- The hour struck, minutes passed, and still
- The passionate fervour of her vow
- Ran in my heart's ear audible.
- I had no doubt at all: I knew
- That she would come, and I was then
- Most certain, while the minutes flew:
- Ah, how I scorned all other men!
- Next moment! Ah! it was--was not!
- I heard the stillness of the street.
- Night came. The stars had not forgot.
- The moonlight fell about my feet.
- So I rebuked my heart, and said:
- "Be still, for she is coming, see,
- Next moment--coming. Ah, her tread,
- I hear her coming--it is she!"
- And then a woman passed. The hour
- Rang heavily along the air.
- I had no hope, I had no power
- To think--for thought was but despair.
- A thing had happened. What? My brain
- Dared not so much as guess the thing.
- And yet the sun would rise again
- Next morning! I stood marvelling.
'The Broken Tryst' is reprinted
from An Anthology of Modern Verse. Ed. A. Methuen. London:
Methuen & Co., 1921.