Written and submitted by anonymous user Lily of the Valley
Rosemary waited for her lover's step. Her eyes were blue jewels, shining like the Four Winds Lighthouse. Her hair was like the sunshine, down in a schoolgirl's braid. Her lover had told her he loved her hair like that, on the same day he had told her to meet him at the hidden spring. Rosemary trembled with excitement. Her girlish silhouette was struck by the sun's last rays, as it slowly descended on the horizon. In minutes it would be dark.
Her head was perfectly still. She had heard something moving. The green leaves pulled aside, revealing her lover. Martin Crawford's boyish cheeks turned crimson when he saw Rosemary, the queen of his dreams. Her beauty overwhelmed him and he stammered when he spoke. His love stood, smiling up at him, for Martin was tall as well as handsome. He had ivory hair and eyes. The latter shone and flashed in the fading sunlight. The look in these eyes made Rosemary blush and cast her own down.
But Martin caught up her hands. He stammered no longer. In a low, rich tone he told her of his love for her. Tremulously, he looked down at her. Rosemary had stopped blushing. She smiled the smile of one whose dreams have all come true. In a whisper she repeated the deathless words that would forever shine in her memory like the evening star. Then, as the sun sank and the moon began its pilgrimage, their lips met.
Those two stayed in the moonlight. They talked little, but instead listened to the beauty around them. Their hands were intertwined together, their eyes speaking love to one another. But with the roses of dawn came duty. Martin rose with a sigh and gently clasped her hands in his. He looked into her eyes for one long moment, and then turned.
Flowers which had been buds then grew into blossoms. Rosemary smelled their fragrancy, but Martin was not near. Her blue eyes tirelessly searched the waves which kept her lover from her. She waited and she watched, but there was not a sail which appeared on the dark horizon that flew above the deck of Martin Crawford.
Rosemary was faithful. She did not love another man, she did not even think of it. Her heart was intertwined with the heart of Martin. None would suffice but the lover who had met her by the spring.
The sunshine of summer was replaced with the winds of autumn. Rosemary anxiously swept the horizon for the ship that bore her lover. The old gossips in town whispered pitifully that the Captain's Daughter was no more. Rosemary refused to believe the dreadful suspicion. She refused to be happy, unless she was watching for her lover, or waiting for him by the spring.
The silver bells of winter came, and no Martin Crawford returned to the spring. Many a man would have gladly filled his place, but Rosemary would have no other. Her eyes lost their youth but still she watched.
Then came the night. Rosemary was waiting in the moonlight. Winter was recalling spring, and a faint warmth came into the air. She thought this was a good sign. Her eyes searched the heavens above and came to rest on a moon. She shivered. It was blood red.
A wind ripped through the trees and pulled at Rosemary's hair. It seemed to beckon her, beckon her to go to her lover. Ah! If she could but ride the wings of the wind, her lover would be restored. She rose. A fearful worry was gnawing at her heart. Her lips parted but no sound came out. She held her head high and listened, listened, listened. If a step came in the night all was well.
The wind abated to a whisper. Rosemary, the faithful maiden, dropped to her knees by the spring. The breath of warmth was now icy and frigid. She did not cry, but her eyes were filled with agony.
Martin, the boy lover, would not keep tryst with her in the moonlight e'er again.