ONE PERFECT DAY

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXII, Issue 4646, 26 April 1902, Page 4 (Supplement)

ONE PERFECT DAY

(By A. G. Oliver.)

(Written specially for the “New Zealand Mail.”) I must write to you to-day, Dearie; I am free from pain, and observe how steady my band is. I liavo been able to partake of some nourishment, and such rest lias not boon my portion for 'months. And yet something tells me I write to you for tbo last time. What a world of sadness dwells within those little words “the last time”—and there —who can tell? How happy your love has made me, dear; and though that dreadful barrier was over between us wo were content. Never while life lasts shall wo forget onr last day together. Our one perfect day; the imago of it is left upon my quickened sight, and is always new', for thou w'o were together, you and I. I seo it often in my dreams—that magic) day of (lawless light. Warm golden sunshine flooding hills and plain, skies Of azure blouducl with autumn’s varied tints, a range of snow capped mountains in tho back ground, the emerald earth dotted hero and there with starry flowers, cool bracing air, and all tho loveliness that goes to make a perfect day in our fair Now Zealand. "Upon God’s universe it lay, A treasure of time’s gift to mo; Unrivalled loveliness, a painted sky, _ Empurpled outlines and a sapphire sea. Beneath the opal tinted sky, Robed in such varied hues of green Iho day w'hoso beauty breathes a sigh This gem-liko day of clays serene.” And all this beauty was ours to enjoy to the full, for we were together, you and I, just us two. Tho splendour bf it nil enrapt my senses, and I said that I felt ns if I was in some old temple or vast cathedral, where God Was present. “Yes,” you replied in those soft little tones I had learned to love so well: “that is true praise. Appreciation and admiration of God’s groat gifts is adoration, in fact it is more than that: it in worship.” Our souls were subdued, but even the liilenco was sweet, for we were together, and that was all sufficing. When my pain is so great that morphia gives but little relief, when heaven is far away, and even God seems to havo forsaken me, I close my eyes and the memory of that perfect day comes hack, I live it again, and am soothed. And then those hours along the river, we two, with no jarring note to mar tho serenity of the scone; heart to heart, lip to lip, soul to soul. And often now when the night wind Idles through the trees, tho lost melody of that hour comes back to mo; and memory stirs the love of long ago. A Soft responsive note of something heard, and felt, not seen, steals across my senses, and though I may not all your meaning understand, I know my soul has touched your soul in shadow-land. And that huge bunch of chrysanthemums you gave me, jwith all their wealth of gold and white, crimson, brown, and cream, and all that goes to make tho loveliness of the chrysanthemum world. Though since then tho days have grown into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years, yet the pungent scent of those autumn flowers brings tho tender grace of a day that, can never come back to mo.

Our perfect day, sped all too soon, we were together you and I, and we were happy. It is too painful to dwell upon the parting. In this world, there are partings harder than death, and this was one of them. And yet for days after you were gone, I did not miss you. I lived as in a dream, with tho sound of your voice in my ears, and the thrill of your kisses upon my lips. Then it slowly dawned upon mo that >you were gone, and I had looked my last upon your face. In fancy sometimes now I nestle in your arms and hear you whisper as you did that autumn night; “you aro the only woman I have over loved,” and I knew you spoke truly when you said it. Oh! the, delight of possessing your, love unshared by any other. And now as I am drawing near to the golden gates, and earthly things are slipping away from me, the knowledge of your love unshared by any other supports mo still. I have no fear, and as earth fades from my dim sight, in soul I shall still be with you. Perhaps in the land beyond, wo may be permitted to ho together with no barrier between us, you and I, heart to heart, soul to soul, a repetition of our perfect day along the liver.

Farewell, beloved! If there are partings harder than death, there are retmions which amply atone; and some day, in tho hereafter wo will meet again, where partings are unknown, you and I, just.” The pGn fell from her fingers. When they came to seek her, tho unfinished letter lay on the desk before her. Tho ■tired oyes were closed, her hands were still. A smile of ineffable sweetness lingered on her lips, for she had passed to where beyond these voices there is peace.