Two on an Old Pathway

He. So I am not alone on the mountain? .

She. No, for I am here. I heard a fountain near;

I heard water rushing, dripping, sounding, leaping, so

near and yet so far. I am on old ground, I am keeping

an old tryst, I knew it was the sound of an old brook,

of water I loved, forever. It is under the hill near, with

the grass waving on the bank, and the water comes over

the rocks-oh, so wet and dark and shining.

Eleanor C. Koenig

He. But you forget me.

She. You were a tree-only darker.

He. 1 am a tree-only darker.

She. But even in the dark-do you remember, too?

He. I remember you.

She. It was right here, on this road-it was after your

marriage. My mother told me-you passed here in your

carriage, with a beautiful lady-in silk.

He. Tell all, don't hurry.

She. I had found a crimson berry in the woods that

day and I was crimson, and far away . . . and bare-

foot and wild.

He. You were the woods, my child.

She. And you smiled at me-and afterwards I stood

there alone and nearly cried. Then I laughed and I

laughed-that I should want to hide, when I knew I

was rich. I gloried in it, with my arms full of the woods

and the crimson berry-and a jack-in-the-pulpit and

chestnut burrs. It was good to know it-

He. And the stone-to throw it.

She. And once I waded in the brook with my little

sister. We followed the brook . . . we followed the

brook forever . . . our voices carried far... far...

past a flower, a white star-tall. The flowers seemed to

be waiting and came down to the bank, and the trees

leaned-oh, so kindly. We were not afraid-we were

never afraid. There is much to tell-

He. I know it all well.

She. Were you there?

He. I wonder-

She. We trailed a jewel weed under the water of the

brook and it turned to silver.

He. The moon is coming over the hill and it will

turn us to silver.

She. And the following birds overhead . .. and a

black snake, but it was dead.

He. Of course.

She. And we came to a wide pond with trees along

the water. We waded to our chins, but the trees said

go no farther.

He. Of course-and then?

She. Then we walked on warm sand, hand in hand,

all wet and drowsy, the water drying into us, our feet

made whiter . . . past the house-

He. What house?

She. The house that always was and will be after.

He. Who lives in that house?

She.. He is wind, he is rain, he is earth, he is tears and

laughter, he is dark, he is deep.

He. He is older-

She. He is fire and peace and a broad shoulder.

He. He is a fountain-

She. And the mountain.

He. That is forever?

She. That is forever.

He. You knew him?

Eleanor C. Koenig

She. I dreamed him long ago, even in my couch on

the top of a tree, with the leaves over me, and the branches

for my arms, and the children's voices far away sounding.

He. Where are the children with the voices far away

sounding?

She. They have lost the track.

He. But we have come back.

She. Where is the beautiful lady?

He. She died long ago in the world beyond the moun-

tain.

She. We two have come back.

He. The moon is rising. Come, let us go down and

sit on the square of old green beside the brook that is

forever. I will spread my cloak on the bank of the brook,

and we will listen to the sound of the water of the brook

that will turn us both to silver.

She. We will listen to the water.

He. Then I will wrap my silver cloak around you and

lead you over an old road, to an old house, all moon-

light-spilled-

She. That we shall build.

He. Where two shall live-

She. With much to give.

He. Earth and fire, rain and wind, dark and deep,

and a broad shoulder . . . and love . . . and peace. ...

She. And the mountain that is forever. . . .

Eleanor C. Koenig

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