I have spoken of the light that comes from the heart
of man, and sheds brightness on all around him...
I long to talk with thee of the time when in my heart
too that light burned bright with blessing...
Listen... and I will fancy thee sitting before me,
gazing up at me with those eyes—so fond
yet stern almost in their intentness. O eyes,
never to be forgotten! On whom are they fastened
now? Who folds in his heart thy glance—that
glance that seems to flow from depths unknown even
as mysterious springs—like ye, both clear
and dark—that gush out into some narrow,
deep ravine under the frowning cliffs.... Listen.
It was at the end of March before Annunciation, soon
after I had seen thee for the first time and—not
yet dreaming of what thou wouldst be to me—already,
silently, secretly, I bore thee in my heart. I
chanced to cross one of the great rivers of Russia.
The ice had not yet broken up, but looked swollen
and dark; it was the fourth day of thaw. The snow
was melting everywhere—steadily but slowly;
there was the running of water on all sides; a noiseless
wind strayed in the soft air. Earth and sky alike
were steeped in one unvarying milky hue; there was
not fog nor was there light; not one object stood
out clear in the general whiteness, everything looked
both close and indistinct. I left my cart far
behind and walked swiftly over the ice of the river,
and except the muffled thud of my own steps heard
not a sound. I went on enfolded on all sides
by the first breath, the first thrill, of early spring...
and gradually gaining force with every step, with
every movement forwards, a glad tremour sprang up
and grew, all uncomprehended within me... it drew me
on, it hastened me, and so strong was the flood of
gladness within me, that I stood still at last and
with questioning eyes looked round me, as I would
seek some outer cause of my mood of rapture....
All was soft, white, slumbering, but I lifted my eyes;
high in the heavens floated a flock of birds flying
back to us.... ‘Spring! welcome spring!’
I shouted aloud: ‘welcome, life and love
and happiness!’ And at that instance, with sweetly
troubling shock, suddenly like a cactus flower thy
image blossomed aflame within me, blossomed and grew,
bewilderingly fair and radiant, and I knew that I
love thee, thee only—that I am all filled
full of thee....
I think of thee... and many other memories, other
pictures float before me with thee everywhere, at
every turn of my life I meet thee. Now an old
Russian garden rises up before me on the slope of a
hillside, lighted up by the last rays of the summer
sun. Behind the silver poplars peeps out the
wooden roof of the manor-house with a thin curl of
reddish smoke above the white chimney, and in the
fence a little gate stands just ajar, as though some
one had drawn it to with faltering hand; and I stand
and wait and gaze at that gate and the sand of the
garden path—wonder and rapture in my heart.
All that I behold seems new and different; over all
a breath of some glad, brooding mystery, and already
I catch the swift rustle of steps, and I stand intent
and alert as a bird with wings folded ready to take
flight anew, and my heart burns and shudders in joyous
dread before the approaching, the alighting rapture....
