Go, lovely rose!
Tell her that wastes her time, and me,
That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung
In deserts where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.
Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retired:
Bid her come forth,
Suffer her self to be desired,
And not blush so to be admired.
Then die! that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee
How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet, and fair!
He kissed her hand tenderly. "I love you, Sarah," he whispered.
"I know. I love you, Alexander. Words can't even describe how I feel."
"I know. You're very good at showing me, though."
He took her hand, and she blushed as some of the other people looked at her. He kept hold of it and asked her to help him up the stairs.
"Are you sure you've had enough?"
"Any more and I shall become a prune."
She waited for him in the vestibule while he changed. Then they went to the quaint old Sally Lunn's tearooms in the North Parade. They sat in the bow window with the sun shining down and had tea and a giant bun each. He negotiated his way through the shop and the ordering process without anyone being the wiser about his blindness.
Next they went to the Abbey, which she described for him in detail.
"The church is one of the last great English pre-Reformation churches built in a consistent late Perpendicular style. The flying buttresses and West front are its most striking features. In the front is a magnificent window of seven lights flanked by turrets depicting carved ladders of angels ascending and descending. There has been a church standing here since 676. The nunnery was converted to a Benedictine monastery by King Edgar in 973 when he was crowned here. Then a Norman church was built in about 1107, but it fell into disrepair when the bishopric was moved to the town of Wells, in the southwest. This building was started in 1499, but because of the dissolution of the monasteries, it wasn't consecrated until 1616.
"The church is remarkable for its number of windows, and its fine fan tracery roof. The tomb of Beau Nash, who made Bath the town it is today, is in the south aisle."
She allowed him time to walk around the churchyard and feel the building, guiding him patiently around obstacles with an ease which surprised even her. As she watched him absorbing it all, she could barely remember a time they had not been together.
He apparently felt the same, for he took her hand or arm without an ounce of restraint, as though they fit perfectly together, completed each other in every way.
"Have you had your fill of the outside? Would you like to explore within?"
"Yes, indeed."
While they were promenading down the aisle, the organist began to rehearse. She was astonished to find that Alexander knew the names of all the pieces he performed. They sat in a pew in silence for a time, until he asked, "Do you think we can go into the organ loft?"
"We can try. The stairs are a bit steep. Just hold on to me."
He listened for a time, enraptured, as the sound filled the church.
"Do you think he might let me try?"
She patted his arm. "If you like. Let's ask."
The man was only too pleased to let him have a turn on the instrument. He stroked his hands up and down it, adjusted his feet, closed his eyes, and began.
Only a few notes told them that Alexander possessed a remarkable talent. Sarah listened in awe. His piano playing had been excellent. On the organ he was masterful.
"How did you know?"
He shook his head. "I didn't. Not really. I heard the music, and my fingers started to move."
Sarah stared at him as he sat on the bench as though completely at home.
"You found the stops and everything without ever having seen the instrument before," she commented in a low tone.
He shrugged. "I guess it's something one never forgets."
She let him play several more hymns. Soon he proclaimed himself tired, and accepted their help getting him back down to the altar safely.
They strolled back up the aisle, and once she was sure she was out of earshot, Sarah said encouragingly, "You can certainly find work anywhere in the world playing the way you do. Even out of practice you were better than that chap. I think he would love to take lessons from you."
"Do you think he knew I was blind?"
She shrugged. "He might have guessed you were poorly sighted, not wearing your glasses, perhaps, and there was your excuse about the stiff leg and back. But blind, no. He wouldn't even have suspected that with the way you played. It was like you had been doing it every day for as long as you could remember."