Sweeter And Colder Lament with me, brothers, the waters and the winds! Sing the sweet song that still ties grief within. Let it never fly; let me never, no never, forget, The thing that lives within me and troubles me yet. It makes every other breath I draw full of pain. But that is all right; for twice agony again Would I pay if I could only make others remember The memory that among them all has sunk to an ember. There is a single tree that stands on a high hill. Worn black stone that crest is, and still. The tree itself is black, and bears not a leaf. But that is all right; it is leaved in my grief. No fire has struck there, though one might think it could. But if it had, it would have burned to ash the wood. And the tree, I think, would have welcomed that end- Yet at the same time wishes to mourn for its friend. Its friend as she was mine, Brother; I do not forget! I will not let myself become complacent, not let The last human who remembers her take the path That all of the others took in the dark aftermath. She was so brilliant that we felt as though the sun Had come among us in the form of a child, to run Lightly on dainty feet without burning the grass. Her eyes were like some fair looking glass In which we saw visions of some far fairer world. It was almost too much to see in the eyes of a girl. But see it we did, and we treasured her, all of us. How could they be willing to let her go without fuss? She danced in the wilderness, and spoke to the birds. She could tell, from one note of a song heard, What the bird's name was, human and in its own tongue. She could tell where it was, and why it had sung. She could tame horses with but a touch of her hand. She loved the animals, and she loved the land. Flowers followed her steps; they sprang where she walked. Frozen streams woke in winter and through their ice talked. But it was trees that she was the most kindred to, Whom she loved whether the sunshine slanted through, Or whether they were ripped bare in times of winter dark. She would stand there and sing to them like a lark, And they would turn, lower branches, brush her hair. Such a depth of caring and tenderness was there It almost matched her expression of joy and of grace As she tilted back her head to let the leaves touch her face. Ah, Brother who stands on the hill, leave me not alone! I have nothing in that memory for which to atone. And yet, I must bear the burden of living for two. Your presence eases the pain, and helps me through. She began hearing, in each wind, in each tree, a voice. The tones shone and reflected in eyes like turquoise. She turned her head when the sunset was very near, As if at some wind-voice that only she could hear. They who had loved her- well, they now feared her power. They said it was one thing to love each tree and flower, And another thing to hear the music she said she heard- Sweeter and colder and more powerful than a bird's. Then one night the others in the village heard the music too. They huddled themselves in bed as a cold wind swept through The village and their laughter, and all human things: The elf-harmony riding on the winter wind's wings. She cried out; I heard her, and I tried to go. If I could do nothing to help her, she would at least know That someone loved her, would stand with her, would come If she wished to the land of which the elves sung. But they wouldn't let me go; they bound me down. And so it was that I saw the village's pride, their crown, Their little girl who laughed at all the pride she could find, Forced to leave all that she had once loved behind. She could have made it, could have, with their love, Turned her back on all those things humans are not of. But they rejected her, wouldn't accept that she might be More than human, not even in their memory. That is all they remember: that a girl they loved died. I have heard speculations, when we are inside, With the winter wind howling round the roof and doors, That they couldn't understand what they so loved before. A pretty child, all of them will agree, and fair sweet. But she wasn't unusual; she didn't sun and stars greet With songs that made their eyes tear where they lay, That made them rush to get up and greet the fair day. They didn't see her, as I did, or wouldn't let themselves see Her body, as it ripped, as something powerful tore free, And rose into the air, leaving the husk of humanity behind. Unable to go fully, half of her went seeking the wind. The cold wind, passing over, chilled the tree's bark and leaves. But it is not for that that the tree endlessly grieves. It was her favorite, and never more will it feel her hand, Or her eyes, that sought only for a tree to understand. But grieve with me, Brother; let me at least remember, Through you, and through myself, not the faint ember That is all they hold of that free wild thing's human youth- Let me remember something of what I loved in truth. The single tree I depended upon to hold me here Died last autumn, as the winter once more grew near. I suffered through the winter, though sometimes I awoke To find the ghosts of leaves hanging about me like smoke, And to hear the soft sound of limbs coated with ice and bark Tapping on my window; though there was only the dark When I rolled over to look out into the bright night, I think her tree is with her, somewhere in the starlight. Winter night again, and I am half-dozing by the fire. I now and again look at the door with restless desire That I cannot name to myself. I do not wish to leave here, And yet I have been feeling restless most of the year. The wind comes rising, and in it, with the sound of the snow, I hear music that it once nearly killed me not to know. I wanted to go with her, I think with my heart in my throat. But is that the only reason I hear elfsong's note? It does not matter, I think as the song makes them all howl, And dive near the fire, where the cold cannot prowl. I lost my first chance, even the second, but the third- Sweeter and colder and more powerful than bird! I run to the door, fling it open, tilt my head back. There is the keening sound above me, there in the black. I can see riders on silver horses, with manes of frost, Dancing above me- and there is she whom I loved and lost! She smiles and reaches down to me; I am caught up. The song surrounds me, and I drink from its cup. I hear the sounds of the villagers fade away behind me; Then I am safe with her, where they cannot find me! Oh, I am free of the constraints of earth and of time. I am free to walk with her through fields of frost-rime, And in lands beyond the sun, where her tree blooms with leaf That is green with joy, that knows nothing of grief.