Forty-Three, Poem

Forty-Three

Poem

19 June 1824

Oh!  My heavens!

I could not wait until tomorrow to write about this, and so, though the firelight be only barely adequate to see by,  I must write!

For Mr. DuBois came to see me this evening after supper, saying that he did not wish to wait until the morrow when I might not come to services, and there being people about if so. 

It was a lovely evening, and he asked that we might go for a walk, before the sun set.  He was desirous of walking to the falls, for which reason I knew not at the time, but I was most excited and happy to do so.

There was no objection that could pass my brother's lips as he knew Mr. DuBois fairly well from the business of tending to fields and selling the harvest, and he knew that Mr. Terry had employed him and thought highly of him.

We walked mostly in silence, listening to the birds in their evening song, feeling a soft breeze cool off the end of a warm day.  I was happy to be walking at such a pace that my cheeks were in a bit of a flush.  For they most certainly were so, even without the exercise.

When we arrived at the falls, Mr. DuBois said that he wished to read to me a poem, if that be all right with me.   I smiled and nodded, for I was without words.  He then produced a piece of paper from his bosom, saying that he wanted to recite this poem perfectly and not rely entirely upon his memory. 

He did so, and with such tenderness, that I so wanted him to kiss me, for I was not mindful of the time and the place or any other circumstance other than I wanted to be kissed.

That he did not do so, even though I truly believe that he very much wanted to, is proof again that he is a gentleman.  How much did I wish him not to be so, at least the tiniest bit that would allow for a sweet kiss, even on the cheek, even for just a moment.

But he gazed into my eyes, and I held his gaze, and we were both so lost to the world for that moment, that heavenward we both flew!

He then asked if I would like to keep the poem, and I said that I would.  I have folded it twice and placed it in this journal, and tomorrow, I shall copy it when there is light enough to not miss a single word.  But for the moment, I bid a sweet Adieu, and hope that sleep comes quickly so that I may write more.  

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Addendum -- It being now Sunday morning, I have just enough time to copy the poem before services today.  I am most desirous of not being late!

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquility;
The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea:
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder--everlastingly.
Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,
If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;
And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.