Arthur William Symons (Артур Саймонс (Симонс))
The Broken Tryst
That 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.
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