No Name

Adam Lindsay Gordon

A stone upon her heart and head,

But no name written on that stone;

Sweet neighbours whisper low instead,

This sinner was a loving one.

 Mrs. Browning.

‘Tis a nameless stone that stands at your head

The gusts in the gloomy gorges whirl

Brown leaves and red till they cover your bed

Now I trust that your sleep is a sound one, girl!

I said in my wrath, when his shadow crossed

From your garden gate to your cottage door,

What does it matter for one soul lost?

Millions of souls have been lost before.

Yet I warned you  ah! but my words came true

Perhaps some day you will find him out.

He who was not worthy to loosen your shoe,

Does his conscience therefore prick him? I doubt.

You laughed and were deaf to my warning voice

Blushed and were blind to his cloven hoof

You have had your chance, you have taken your choice

How could I help you, standing aloof?

He has prospered well with the world  he says

I am mad  if so, and if he be sane,

I, at least, give God thanksgiving and praise

That there lies between us one difference plain.

* * * * *

You in your beauty above me bent

In the pause of a wild west country ball

Spoke to me  touched me without intent

Made me your servant for once and all.

Light laughter rippled your rose-red lip,

And you swept my cheek with a shining curl,

That strayed from your shoulder’s snowy tip

Now I pray that your sleep is a sound one, girl!

From a long way off to look at your charms

Made my blood run redder in every vein,

And he  he has held you long in his arms,

And has kissed you over and over again.

Is it well that he keeps well out of my way?

If we met, he and I  we alone  we two

Would I give him one moment’s grace to pray?

Not I, for the sake of the soul he slew.

A life like a shuttlecock may be tossed

With the hand of fate for a battledore;

But it matters much for your sweet soul lost,

As much as a million souls and more.

And I know that if, here or there, alone,

I found him, fairly and face to face,

Having slain his body, I would slay my own,

That my soul to Satan his soul might chase.

He hardens his heart in the public way

Who am I? I am but a nameless churl;

But God will put all things straight some day

Till then may your sleep be a sound one, girl!