gers and burns on my tremulous fingers!
Ah, birds in a very riot of tune
Pour out my joy to the heart of June!

He loves me--loves me! My heart is singing.--
(Heart, oh heart of my heart is it true?)
Song on my lips from my soul upringing,
A passion of bliss to the breezes flinging,
Roses, roses--nor dream of rue!
I am beloved by you.

VI.

To be his wife! Calm all my soul is filling,
A calm too deep for smiles--or even tears;
A perfect trust to slumber subtly stilling
My whilom doubts and fears.

Each little common thing to me seems rarer,
My life each day becomes more dear to me;
Love, am I fair? Ah, fain would I be fairer--
And yet more fair for thee.

Like to a priestess some loved shrine adorning,
I deck the charms but poorly prized, till late,
The beauty once I held too slight for scorning--
To thee, now consecrate!

As if some god of old had stooped to love me--
Some star had pierced my darkness with its ray--
I worship thee--an idol throned above me--
Forgetting thou art clay.

Rejoicing in the gift that God has given,
I may forget the Giver. Love, I fear
Lest I shall e'en forget to sigh for Heaven--
When heaven for me is here!

VII.

Strange that a love supreme
Should be swayed by a petty pride,
As a straw might turn aside
The swift onflowing tide
Of a mighty seaward stream!

I know that the fault was mine,
But I cannot, will not speak;
How should I, suppliant, meek,
His gracious pardon seek--
Tho' the fault were mine--all mine?

Aye, tho' my heart should break,
Something--or pride or shame--
Forbids me that I should claim
As mine the fault, the blame--
Aye, tho' my heart should break!

VIII.

Last night he came to me,
His dark eyes grave and sweet--
(Eyes that I could not meet!)
To crave my pardon--_mine!_
With that kingly courtesy
Which makes his least deed fine.

What fiend took hold on me?
I would nor speak nor heed,
Tho' he bent his pride to plead--
(He, all unused to sue!)
Though he sought full tenderly
For a pardon not _his_ due.

Fool! to have played with fire--
Had I not full often heard
How when his wrath was stirred
It burst all bounds and leapt
Higher and ever higher
Like flames by the storm-wind swept?

Yet--tho' his face was white
With a passion that shook his soul--
Not once did he waive control,
Tho' his heart to its depths was stirred--
He leashed his wrath that night
Nor uttered one bitter word.

Pride held me stu