Blind.

You think it is a sorry thing         That I am blind.    Your pitying         Is welcome to me; yet indeed,         I think I have but little need         Of it.    Though you may marvel much         That we, who see by sense of touch         And taste and hearing, see things you         May never look upon; and true         Is it that even in the scent         Of blossoms we find something meant         No eyes have in their faces read,         Or wept to see interpreted.         And you might think it strange if now         I told you you were smiling.    How         Do I know that?    I hold your hand -         Its language I can understand -         Give both to me, and I will show         You many other things I know.         Listen:    We never met before         Till now? - Well, you are something lower         Than five-feet-eight in height; and you         Are slender; and your eyes are blue -         Your mother's eyes - your mother's hair -         Your mother's likeness everywhere         Save in your walk - and that is quite         Your father's; nervous. - Am I right?         I thought so.    And you used to sing,         But have neglected everything         Of vocalism - though you may         Still thrum on the guitar, and play         A little on the violin, -         I know that by the callous in         The finger-tips of your left hand -         And, by-the-bye, though nature planned         You as most men, you are, I see,         "Left-handed," too, - the mystery         Is clear, though, - your right arm has been         Broken, to "break" the left one in.         And so, you see, though blind of sight,         I still have ways of seeing quite         Too well for you to sympathize         Excessively, with your good eyes. -         Though once, perhaps, to be sincere,         Within the whole asylum here,         From cupola to basement hall,         I was the blindest of them all!         Let us move further down the walk -         The man here waiting hears my talk,         And is disturbed; besides, he may         Not be quite friendly anyway.         In fact - (this will be far enough;         Sit down) - the man just spoken of         Was once a friend of mine.    He came         For treatment here from Burlingame -         A rich though brilliant student there,         Who read his eyes out of repair,         And groped his way up here, where we         Became acquainted, and where he         Met one of our girl-teachers, and,         If you 'll believe me, asked her hand         In marriage, though the girl was blind         As I am - and the girl declined.         Odd, wasn't it?    Look, you can see         Him waiting there.    Fine, isn't he?         And handsome, eloquently wide         And high of brow, and dignified         With every outward grace, his sight         Restored to him, clear and bright         As day-dawn; waiting, waiting still         For the blind girl that never will         Be wife of his.    How do I know?         You will recall a while ago         I told you he and I were friends.         In all that friendship comprehends,         I was his friend, I swear! why now,         Remembering his love, and how         His confidence was all my own,         I hear, in fancy, the low tone         Of his deep voice, so full of pride         And passion, yet so pacified         With his affliction, that it seems         An utterance sent out of dreams         Of saddest melody, withal         So sorrowfully musical         It was, and is, must ever be -         But I'm digressing, pardon me.         I knew not anything of love         In those days, but of that above         All worldly passion, - for my art -         Music, - and that, with all my heart         And soul, blent in a love too great         For words of mine to estimate.         And though among my pupils she         Whose love my friend sought came to me         I only knew her fingers' touch         Because they loitered overmuch         In simple scales, and needs must be         Untangled almost constantly.         But she was bright in other ways,         And quick of thought, with ready plays         Of wit, and with a voice as sweet         To listen to as one might meet         In any oratorio -         And once I gravely told her so, -         And, at my words, her limpid tone         Of laughter faltered to a moan,         And fell from that into a sigh         That quavered all so wearily,         That I, without the tear that crept         Between the keys, had known she wept;         And yet the hand I reached for then         She caught away, and laughed again.         And when that evening I strolled         With my old friend, I, smiling, told         Him I believed the girl and he         Were matched and mated perfectly:         He was so noble; she, so fair         Of speech, and womanly of air;         He, strong, ambitious; she, as mild         And artless even as a child;         And with a nature, I was sure,         As worshipful as it was pure         And sweet, and brimmed with tender things         Beyond his rarest fancyings.         He stopped me solemnly.    He knew,         He said, how good, and just, and true         Was all I said of her; but as         For his own virtues, let them pass,         Since they were nothing to the one         That he had set his heart upon;         For but that morning she had turned         Forever from him.    Then I learned         That for a month he had delayed         His going from us, with no aid         Of hope to hold him, - meeting still         Her ever firm denial, till         Not even in his new-found sight         He found one comfort or delight.         And as his voice broke there, I felt         The brother-heart within me melt         In warm compassion for his own         That throbbed so utterly alone.         And then a sudden fancy hit         Along my brain; and coupling it         With a belief that I, indeed,         Might help my friend in his great need,         I warmly said that I would go         Myself, if he decided so,         And see her for him - that I knew         My pleadings would be listened to         Most seriously, and that she         Should love him, listening to me.         Go; bless me!    And that was the last -         The last time his warm hand shut fast         Within my own - so empty since,         That the remembered finger-prints         I 've kissed a thousand times, and wet         Them with the tears of all regret!         I know not how to rightly tell         How fared my quest, and what befell         Me, coming in the presence of         That blind girl, and her blinder love.         I know but little else than that         Above the chair in which she sat         I leant - reached for, and found her hand,         And held it for a moment, and         Took up the other - held them both -         As might a friend, I will take oath:         Spoke leisurely, as might a man         Praying for no thing other than         He thinks Heaven's justice; - She was blind,         I said, and yet a noble mind         Most truly loved her; one whose fond         Clear-sighted vision looked beyond         The bounds of her infirmity,         And saw the woman, perfectly         Modeled, and wrought out pure and true         And lovable.    She quailed, and drew         Her hands away, but closer still         I caught them.    "Rack me as you will!"         She cried out sharply - "Call me 'blind' -         Love ever is - I am resigned!         Blind is your friend; as blind as he         Am I - but blindest of the three -         Yea, blind as death - you will not see         My love for you is killing me!"         There is a memory that may         Not ever wholly fade away         From out my heart, so bright and fair         The light of it still glimmers there.         Why, it did seem as though my sight         Flamed back upon me, dazzling white         And godlike.    Not one other word         Of hers I listened for or heard,         But I saw songs sung in her eyes         Till they did swoon up drowning-wise,         As my mad lips did strike her own         And we flashed one and one alone!         Ah! was it treachery for me         To kneel there, drinking eagerly         That torrent-flow of words that swept         Out laughingly the tears she wept? -         Sweet words!    O sweeter far, maybe,         Than light of day to those that see, -         God knows, who did the rapture send         To me, and hold it from my friend.         And we were married half a year         Ago, - and he is - waiting here,         Heedless of that - or anything,         But just that he is lingering         To say good-bye to her, and bow -         As you may see him doing now, -         For there's her footstep in the hall;         God bless her! - help him! - save us all!