YOUTHFUL LOVE.

———

BY ALICE G. LEE.

———

“Child no longer. I love, and I am Woman!”

When first thy face blent with my youthful dreaming,

I loved thee fondly, madly, e’en as now;

Yet to a mossy bank, with careless seeming,

I pressed a woman’s heart, a girl’s young brow.

I did not dream that thou couldst ever love me,

One that was fondled as a very child!

But as the glorious stars that beamed above me,

I worshiped thee, with love as deep and wild.

Then bending low, thy face was by my pillow:

A kiss was pressed upon my burning cheek —

As floats a flower upon the foamy billow,

Uprose my heart, and yet I could not speak.

I sat beside thee in that pulseless hour,

And gazed into the cloudless vault above.

I learned that o’er thy heart was cast the power —

E’en as on mine—the fatal spell of love.

Unto my soul it came a torrent rushing,

And brought wild thoughts unknown to it before.

Bright hopes and dreams within thy heart were gushing

Of joys the future held for thee in store.

I only knew that, seated now beside thee,

My hand lay trembling, nestling in thine own;

I only felt thy dear voice did not chide me —

Oh, how I treasured every careless tone.

Another hand in fancy thou wert pressing;

Another voice fell softly on thine ear:

And looks of love came—with a low-voiced blessing —

From beaming eyes, that memory brought so near.

While thoughts of a bright meeting on the morrow

Had chased a transient shadow from thy brow —

Unto my heart came the first thrill of sorrow;

An omen of the weight it beareth now.

We parted: I those mournful thoughts to smother

Within a breast till then unknown to care.

I knew thou lovedst only as a brother —

A sister’s love I had no wish to share.

In that short hour I had lived many years;

And now, alas! must share the common lot —

The lot of woman—suffering and tears;

While yet a child to those who knew me not.

The wreath of Fame e’en then for thee was twining;

High aspirations urged thee proudly on:

The light of love upon thy path was shining,

A dear hand would be thine when fame was won.

I bade God speed thee; though my heart was breaking

My pale cheek flushed beneath thy parting kiss —

Hope from my soul a final leave was taking —

The future hath no trial worse than this.