The Girl with the Yellow Scarf.

From Gilbert to Helen.

On Monday first, I saw her,

as she perched on weathered rock.

The pallid winter rays flushed cheeks,

now rosy from the shock.

Her chin was raised, and face turned in

to meet the bitter wind.

And just barely did I see a tear

from glist’ning brown orb, twinned.

For nothing did her countenance change,

barring that single drop.

And her yellow scarf flapped on and on;

it seemed to never stop.

The following day, and there again,

her dark hair flying free.

Her face appeared perhaps the same,

though none so observant as me.

Her head was cocked, eyes were closed;

she was caught up in some dream.

Like listening to the nature’s ballad,

contented did she seem.

But then I saw a quivering hand

raise briefly from her lap.

It reached for yellow scarf and

round her neck she bade it wrap.

On Wednesday next, I did return,

and kept an eager eye

for the stoic girl on yonder rock;

the pull my heart could not deny.

And there she was, perched as before,

yet a furrow held her brow.

Oh how I wished for smiles to break

her troubled frown of now.

That once unsteady hand now gripped

the collar of her coat.

And though she held it round herself,

I saw yellow at her throat.

By Thursday’s frosty morn, I knew

myself to be in love.

Yet nothing could prepare my heart

for what it came upon.

For there I saw, not one but two;

another drew her gaze.

He said no words but steely eyes

bore bleak attempts to faze,

her sweeter soul, her fairer face,

and bend them to his will.

His hands laced through the yellow wool

and pulled it tighter still.

With chocking fear of what I’d find,

I sought her on the morrow.

Be still my soul, for it did cry!

I am resigned to sorrow.

No consolation could I find,

no solace for my grief.

The sun was gone,

her light, no more.

That she, my sweet relief.

I knelt where she herself once was;

her loveliness had mellowed.

For clutching all I had of her,

I’m left with only yellow.

This shall not be your ending, Helen!

(for this I heard you called.

And though I heard it from his lips,

it’s you with whom I am enthralled.)

You, with darkened eyes, I see,

Returning, purged from misery.

Your smile, I had so longed to be,

beholder of and now will she,

turn her face at last to me!

Oh Helen, leave your yellow scarf

behind and come with me instead.

I promise while you’re in my arms,

there shan’t be tears to shed.