Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THEODORA, by ELIZA KEARY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THEODORA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Seventy to-day - my birthday
Last Line: Good-bye? -- theodora!
Subject(s): Old Age; Youth


SEVENTY to-day -- my birthday!
Am I an old man,
Then? When I began
To write a letter or two
This morning, it had slipt through
My memory, till the date came,
Twenty-seventh of May.
Well, my work's play,
Now, I suppose -- the pretence
Of an old man. Theodora,
Child, it's my birthday,
Daughter! There, there -- the same
Slip of the mind; sense
Of things near doesn't fail me;
Only the dear, dear past; nothing's clear
In the dark behind. Theodora --
It's the mind -- dense fog o' the mind and gloom.

In my old chair,
In the old room,
On my birthday evening,
In sweet May,
The day over and quiet. There
By the little stool, kneeling at play -- Theodora.
No, no, forty years ago, perhaps, one spring,
The spring of Theodora.
Patter away, little feet,
Round the room;
Chatter away, little sweet
Voice, low little voice. Come
Close to my knee, little one.
What! the room's empty -- I'm alone.

It grows dark
In the room, in the street. Hark!
There are children's voices outside;
They come in from the dusk, through the wide,
Low window. The children are playing,
Singing, saying, We've been out a-Maying.
Real live children, not Theodora who died;
No -- who forsook me,
Who broke me, whose disgrace crushed me.
Who can tell?
It was some devil overtook me,
Jealous of joy that flushed me,
To provoke me with curses,
And pushed me to hell --
Into hell, with flame in my head. What became
Of thee, little one, Theodora?
What part has she won?
Children's voices outside singing.
"Willie pulled the golans
By the river from the slush and the sedge;
Cicely found the violets
Hiding under the hedge;
Margaret gathered the white, white thorn,
Near the sparrow's nest,
Where wee bonnie birdlings were hatched i' the morn."

Theodora gathered the white thorn,
Theodora carried the hawthorn,
Sweet and white, in her breast.

Children.

"Mary is supple and tall;
She can spring
For a branch, and cling
Like a weed to the wall."

Supple, and tall, and slight,
And merry, my delight
From morning till night -- Theodora.

Children.

"But Lizzie is taller, and Grace,
Grace was our Queen
Of the May. She is just seventeen."

Seventeen! Theodora,
In her simple girl's robes, her young face
Smiling under her curls; -- one embrace,
And Good-bye only, hastily,
Without saying why.
Theodora,
Are you gone, then, my little one?

Children.
"Over and done, merry day! Good-bye!"

Good-bye? -- Theodora!






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