Two Poems | Abigail Fithian Halsey

THE PROOF

How would I prove my love?

By some fair deed,

Some joyous sacrifice,

Some swift relief

Unto your utmost need,

Some glowing revelation

That, like sunlight on a distant hill,

Should show you all my heart

In one glad moment yours.

How do I prove my love?

By standing just aside,

By seeing you go on,

Day after day,

In ways I may not tread;

By watching your dear feet

Stumble in paths

My word could save you from,

Yet never speaking it;

By knowing past all doubting

That the day will come,

When, all else gone,

Alone,

Deserted,

You will turn your face

To meet my waiting eyes,

And there

Behold your own.

THE SOURCE

Dear comrade, do they call you dead?

Ah no, not I.

Last night the moon lay white on all the land,

A boat was anchored

Here beside the stream.

Oh, ‘twas a merry party

Setting forth,

And you were here,

And those we loved,

And I.

One took the oars

And rowed us toward the hills.

The woods closed in,

The stream grew dark,

And then

The boat was grounded sudden on the shoals,

And I

Said quickly that perhaps

We’d come too far.

Too far, they all agreed,

And turned us back.

Then quietly you rose and stepped ashore,

And with a smile to me,

Said,

“I am going on

To find the source,”

And left us there,

And I—

Dear comrade, do they call you dead ?

Ah no, not I!

By Abigail Fithian Halsey

Published in Contemporaneous Verse, Jan. 1917, p. 8-9 —