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!