Evermore

Upon a silent winter’s night, there stood a maid by amber light Lent by lantern softly gleaming beneath the leaning sycamore. Half-shadow in her raven cloak, lips still as though they never spoke With sable eyes that never broke from search for her sweet paramour; For the soldier who did evoke from her pure love forever more, Dauntless love forevermore. The night was dry with bitter cold; dead leaves upon the ground were old And broken—pale like tattered parchment, scattered ‘neath the sycamore. The moon was bright, like sunlight streaming, on her hooded figure beaming So that she had all the seeming of some being of campfire lore. Ghost or angel, spirit keeping there beneath the sycamore, Lone beneath the sycamore. The night, so dark and deep, foreboding, could not keep the dame from holding To her bold and valiant station below the creaking sycamore. In dank blackness she stood hidden, patient for her love forbidden— For that love whom she’d been bidden never to return to more; For her faithful love forbidden, stood beside the sycamore, Awaiting her good paramour. Listening in the lonely evening, the maiden, she began perceiving A quiet voice, and then believing that it rose from off the nearby shore. A voice that spoke in nigh a whisper, but a word was never crisper Than that word she heard it whisper—that word of promise—Evermore. That word he’d spoken as he kissed her, the brushing, breathy, “Evermore”, Rising from the rocky shore. “How speaks those crested waves so clearly?” wondered she, though hardly fearing Waves that spoke that word she dearly treasured—that hushed word—Evermore. To quench her thirst for company, the maid began to ask the sea, “Doth my sweetheart come for me? My strong and steadfast paramour? My great and gallant, brave and valiant, never-doubted paramour?” Spoke the ocean, “Evermore.” “Will I soon feel of his caress? Will my racing heart be put to rest? Will he stay near me always lest I be lonesome evermore?” Echoed through the black abyss above the salty water’s mists And below that charcoal cloud that drifts over that forlorn shore, Was that murmured word she listened for, that singing descant, “Evermore”, Ringing descant, “Evermore.” Pondering upon the hour, the maiden, she began to scour The darkness, veiled more thickly now, for some sign of her paramour. To deter her doubts at his delay, to the sea she began to say, “Tell me, waters deep, I pray, if he rides swift to this sycamore. That he comes in fiery fury riding to this sycamore.” Quoth the dark sea, “Evermore.” As hours passed, the stars, they dwindled, their white flame no more to be kindled, ‘Till blind in breathless blackness, the dame stood still beneath the sycamore. Suffocating as a tomb, dark with chill that wreaked of doom Doubts and fear began to loom and then seep deep into her core, There to bloom and then consume her, ‘till her thoughts one terror bore: Would her love come nevermore? To force her frantic fears away, she called again to the falling waves, “Will there be a brighter day when I’ll be with my love evermore?” She clutched her cloak with knuckles white, cold with petrifying fright, Awaiting a whisper in the night to rise from the stony shore. And what should she hear in the lightless night to rise from the loveless shore, But that cold word: “Nevermore.” Wakened now with horrors new, (Could her true love be untrue?) Summoning all her strength, she drew the courage to call to the lying shore, “I know the truth to be contrary; my good soldier would not tarry, Lest he had a reason noble to make me wait at this sycamore. A noble reason to be late to meet me at this sycamore.” Whispered the sea, “Nevermore.” Broken now, the maiden crying, all her faith within her flying, All her crimson courage dying, pleaded with the murky shore, “Tell me, icy ocean truly; pray thee, do not treat me cruelly! Tell me when I shall again see my beloved paramour; When I shall be safe in the embrace of my true paramour.” Quoth the waters, “Nevermore.” “Tell me if he’s faithful to me, if he ever loved me truly, Tell me if he’ll keep his promise sweet of ever—evermore. Save me from dark misery, say that he still comes for me, That he’ll come to set me free from thee, oh dreaded devil’s shore! That he’ll come to rescue me, oh stony soulless shore!” The ocean answered, “Nevermore.” Flying in a tortured rage, she ran toward the crashing waves, Her dusky eyes gone mad with anguish as she fled from the sycamore. Plunging herself into a grave, she fell upon the frigid waves, The rolling, rising, writhing waves that spoke that one word, “Nevermore”. The waves she tried to silence, but who silenced her forevermore. Cutting htrough the solemn bnight, the gallop, like a brilliant light, Delayed to keep their secrecy in meeting at the sycamore; Prepared to hold his love and reassure her at the sycamore. He cursed himself for having left her alone there with no warmth, nor shelter, Yet, she was strong and faithful too, his love, his life forevermore. Still, he prayed that she remembered the promise that he’d given her, That soft promise, “Evermore.” Seeking her fair, pallid face, hoping for her warm embrace, Dismounted and was troubled to find naught but the sycamore. The soldier searched, but could not see a trace of his sweet bride-to-be, The maiden true who was the key to his heart forevermore, The maiden whose sable eyes had at first sight struck him to the core, His true love forevermore. Bewildered and astonished still, the soldier’s thoughts began toreel, And his heart began to fill with fear for his love, his paramour. “Discourse where my fair maid may be! Hath my love forsaken me?” This he called out to the sea that washed upon the shore. And the answer of the sea echoed in his mind forevermore. This it whispered: “Evermore.”