Two
SHE turned the letter’s rustling page; her smile
Made bright the air about her while she read:
“I come to you to-morrow, love; meanwhile
Love me, my sweet,” he said.
“What other business has my life?” she thought,
And musing passed, as in some happy dream,
To the day’s care and toils, and while she wrought
Time winged with light did seem.
To-morrow! When the summer morning broke
In rose and gold, and touched her slumbering eyes
Softly, with tempered splendor, and she woke
To the rich dawn’s surprise,
Birds sang aloft and roses bloomed below;
Flushed wide the tender fleecy mists above;
Came Memory, leading Hope, and whispered low,
“Love me! I come, my love.”
“So that thou comest,” she thought, “skies may grow gray,
The sun may fade, the sea with foam blanch white,
Tempest and thunder dread may spoil the day,
But not my deep delight.”
O sweet and awful Love! O power supreme,
Mighty and sacred, terrible art thou!
Beside thee Life and Death are but a dream;
Before thee all must bow.
When in the west the sunset’s crimson flame
Burned low and wasted, and the cool winds blew,
Watching the steadfast sky she heard her name
Breathed in the voice she knew.
Joy shook her heart, nor would its pulse be stilled;
Her fair cheek borrowed swift the sunset’s bloom.
A presence beautiful and stately filled
The silence of the room.
“Hast thou no word of welcome?” for indeed
like some mute marble goddess proud stood she;
She turned. “O king of men!” she cried, “what need
That I should welcome thee?”
Her eyes divine beneath her solemn brows
Met his clear gaze and measured strength for strength.
She drooped, as to the sun the lily bows,
Into his arms at length.
Wide swung heaven’s gates for them; no more they knew.
The silent stars looked in, they saw them not.
The slow winds wandered soft though dusk and dew,
But earth was all forgot.
