She prays so very long and late,— The two men, weary, waiting there,— The great magnolia at the gate Bends drowsily above her prayer.
The cypress in his cloak of moss, That watches on in silent gloom, Has leaned and shaped a shadow-cross Above the nameless, lowly tomb.
What can she pray for? What her sin? What folly of a maid so fair? What shadows bind the wondrous hair Of one who prays so long within?
The palm-trees guard in regiment, Stand right and left without the gate; The myrtle-moss trees wait and wait; The tall magnolia leans intent.
The cypress trees, on gnarled old knees, Far out the dank and marshy deep Where slimy monsters groan and creep, Kneel with her in their marshy seas.
What can her sin be? Who shall know? The night flies by,— a bird on wing; The men no longer to and fro Stride up and down, or anything.
For one so weary and so old Has hardly strength to stride or stir; He can but hold his bags of gold,— But hug his gold and wait for her.
The two stand still,— stand face to face. The moon slides on; the midnight air Is perfumed as a house of prayer — The maiden keeps her holy place.
Two men! And one is gray, but one Scarce lifts a full-grown face as yet: With light foot on life's threshold set,— Is he the other's sun-born son?
And one is of the land of snow, And one is of the land of sun; A black-eyed burning youth is one, But one has pulses cold and slow:
Ay, cold and slow from clime of snow Where Nature's bosom, icy bound, Holds all her forces, hard, profound,— Holds close where all the South lets go.
Blame not the sun, blame not the snows; God's great schoolhouse for all is clime, The great school-teacher, Father Time; And each has borne as best he knows.
At last the elder speaks,— he cries,— He speaks as if his heart would break; He speaks out as a man that dies,— As dying for some lost love's sake:
“Come, take this bag of gold, and go! Come, take one bag! See, I have two! Oh, why stand silent, staring so, When I would share my gold with you?
“Come, take this gold! See how I pray! See how I bribe, and beg, and buy,— Ay, buy! buy love, as you, too, may Some day before you come to die.
“God! take this gold, I beg, I pray! I beg as one who thirsting cries For but one drop of drink, and dies In some lone, loveless desert way.
“You hesitate? Still hesitate? Stand silent still and mock my pain? Still mock to see me wait and wait, And wait her love, as earth waits rain?”
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