The Broken Tryst

Arthur Symons 1865 (Milford Haven) – 1945



That day a fire was in my blood;
I could have sung: joy wrapt me round;
The men I met seemed all so good,
I scarcely knew I trod the ground.

How easy seemed all toil! I laughed
To think that once I hated it.
The sunlight thrilled like wine, I quaffed
Delight, divine and infinite.

The very day was not too long;
I felt so patient; I could wait,
Being certain. So, the hours in song
Chimed out the minutes of my fate.

For she was coming, she, at last,
I knew: I knew that bolts and bars
Could stay her not; my heart throbbed fast,
I was not more certain of the stars.

The twilight came, grew deeper; now
The hour struck, minutes passed, and still
The passionate fervour of her vow
Ran in my heart's ear audible.

I had no doubt at all: I knew
That she would come, and I was then
Most certain, while the minutes flew:
Ah, how I scorned all other men!

Next moment! Ah! it was--was not!
I heard the stillness of the street.
Night came. The stars had not forgot.
The moonlight fell about my feet.

So I rebuked my heart, and said:
"Be still, for she is coming, see,
Next moment--coming. Ah, her tread,
I hear her coming--it is she!"

And then a woman passed. The hour
Rang heavily along the air.
I had no hope, I had no power
To think--for thought was but despair.

A thing had happened. What? My brain
Dared not so much as guess the thing.
And yet the sun would rise again
Next morning! I stood marvelling.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

1:22 min read
98

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABXB XXAX CDCD EFEF GXGX HIHI JKJK LMLM NONO XXIC
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 1,406
Words 276
Stanzas 10
Stanza Lengths 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4

Arthur Symons

Arthur William Symons, was a British poet, critic and magazine editor. more…

All Arthur Symons poems | Arthur Symons Books

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