Part 3 (1/2)

XVI.

And now he is all mine, for my caress And my strong bow,--an Ariel, as it seems,-- A something sweeter than the sweetest dreams; A prison'd wizard that has come to bless And will not curse, though tortured, more or less, By some remembrance that athwart him streams.

XVII.

It is the thought of April. 'Tis the tie That made us one; for then the earth was fair With all things on't, and summer in the air Tingled for thee and me. A soft reply Came to thy lips, and I was like to die To hear thee make such coy confessions there.

XVIII.

It was the dawn of love (or so I thought) The tender cooing of thy bosom-bird-- The beating heart that flutter'd at a word, And seem'd for me alone to be so fraught With wants unutter'd! All my being caught Glamor thereat, as at a boon conferr'd.

XIX.

And I was lifted, in a minute's s.p.a.ce, As nigh to Heaven as Heaven is nigh to thee, And in thy wistful glances I could see Something that seem'd a joy, and in thy face A splendour fit for angels in the place Where G.o.d has named them all in their degree.

XX.

Ah, none so blest as I, and none so proud, In that wild moment when a thrill was sent Right through my soul, as if from thee it went As flame from fire! But this was disallow'd; And I shall sooner wear a winter shroud Than thou revoke my doom of banishment.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Letter III REGRETS]

LETTER III.

REGRETS.

I.

When I did wake, to-day, a bird of Heaven, A wanton, woeless thing, a wandering sprite, Did seem to sing a song for my delight; And, far away, did make its holy steven Sweeter to hear than lute-strings that are seven; And I did weep thereat in my despite.

II.

O glorious sun! I thought, O gracious king, Of all this splendour that we call the earth!

For thee the lark distils his morning mirth, But who will hear the matins that I sing?

Who will be glad to greet me in the spring, Or heed the voice of one so little worth?

III.

Who will accept the thanks I would entone For having met thee? and for having seen Thy face an instant in the bower serene Of perfect faith? The splendour was thine own, The rapture mine; and Doubt was overthrown, And Grief forgot the keynote of its threne.

IV.