the delicate varyings of my mistress's beauty, or the deepening spell
of her royal rule. I was delirious with the delight of her presence,
which comprised to me all types of excellence. Within her eyes the
sapphire gates of heaven unclosed to me; in the splendor of lustred hair
was life-warmth.

--And had I forgot?--the red lips I crushed like rose-leaves on my
own--the tender eyes that plead 'remember me'--the faded rosemary which
we culled together--the vows with which I said that love like ours was
never false, nor parting fatal. Had I forgot? Could this _Aspiro_ of my
worship quite dispel my youth-dream--had her infatuating presence quite
eclipsed my memory of Christine?--

Alas! I had not meant to be inconstant, but while I strove sullenly for
success in uncongenial occupation, _she_ came to me--Aspiro--came like
the truth and light, and taught me to myself.

For a long time I doubted and resisted; though she tempted me, making
real the dreams of my shy, worshipful childhood, teaching me the
meanings of treasured stories which I had listened to from flower-sprite
and river-god, leading and wooing me with lovelier lures than even
Nature's; for tropical bird-song and falling water was harsh to her
voice, and dew-dripped lilies dim to her brow. But I shut my dazzled
eyes at first from these, and strove to see only the face whereon, with
tender kisses, I had sealed my future--having narrow aims; till the
vision faded despairingly, and even closed lids would not recall it, and
my weak resistance seemed but to strengthen the sway that bore me
willingly away.

Over and over I told the rosary of Aspiro's charms. Hour by hour I
wearied not of her perfections. With burning vows and rapturous words I
pledged my life to her.

Once when the wind was sweeping her gay garments, like hope-banners,
against my limbs, and tangling her long, loose hair about me--once when
I was blind with the jewel-dazzle from her breast, thrilled by the
passion-pressure of her hand, she said, in saddest, sweetest tones:

'I am erratic, Paulo, and exacting--will you tire of me!'

O Immortality! Did not that seem sacrilege!

Like curlew's wings flapped the white sails of the ship on the blue
waters. Aspiro's eyes absorbed my mind and memory. The past was
voiceless--the future clarion-toned. So we loosed our hold of the real
past, and drifted toward an ideal future.

We wandered through apocalyptic mazes, startling the hush of mystery
wit