OUTGROWN

Nay, you wrong her, my friend, she's not fickle; her love
   she has simply outgrown:
One can read the whole matter, translating her heart
   by the light of one's own.

Can you bear me to talk with you frankly?  There is much that
   my heart would say;
And you know we were children together, have quarreled
   and "made up" in play.

And so, for the sake of old friendship, I venture to tell you
   the truth, -
As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I might in our
   earlier youth.

Five summers ago, when you wooed her, you stood on the
   selfsame plane,
Face to face, heart to heart, never dreaming your souls
   should be parted again.

She loved you at that time entirely, in the bloom, of her life's
   early May;
And it is not her fault, I repeat it, that she does not love you
   to-day.

Nature never stands still, nor souls either: they ever go up
   or go down;
And hers has been steadily soaring - but how has it been
   with your own?

She has struggled and yearned and aspired, grown purer and wiser each year:
The stars are not farther above you in yon luminous atmosphere!

For she whom you crowned with fresh roses, down yonder, five summers ago,
Has learned that the first of our duties to God and ourselves is to grow.

Her eyes they are sweeter and calmer: but their vision is clearer as well;
Her voice has a tender cadence, but is pure as a silver bell.

Her face has the look worn by those who with God and his angels have talked:
The white robes she wears are less white than the spirits with whom she has walked.

And you?  Have you aimed at the highest?  Have you, too,
   aspired and prayed?
Have you looked upon evil unsullied?  Have you conquered it
   undismayed?

Have you, too, grown purer and wiser, as the months
   and the years have rolled on?
Did you meet her this morning rejoicing in the triumph
   of victory won?

Nay, hear me!  The truth cannot harm you.  When to-day
   in her presence you stood
Was the hand that you gave her as white and clean as that
   of her womanhood?

Go measure yourself by her standard; look back on the years
   that have fled:
Then ask, if you need, why she tells you that the love of her
   girlhood is dead.

She cannot look down to her lover: her love, like her soul, aspires;
He must stand by her side, or above her, who would kindle its
   holy fires.

Now farewell!  For the sake of old friendship I have ventured
   to tell you the truth,
As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly as I might in our earlier youth.

Julia C. R. Dorr [1825-1913]

From: Stevenson, Burton Egbert.
The Home Book of Verse.

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This collection assembled by Jone Johnson Lewis.
Collection © 1999-2002 Jone Johnson Lewis.

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