"For me love played the low preludes,
Yet life began but with the ring,
Such infinite solicitudes
Around it cling.
"I did not for my heart divine
Her destiny so meek to grow;
The higher nature matched with mine
Will have it so.
"Still I consider it, and still
Acknowledge it my master made,
Above me by the steadier will
Of nought afraid.
"Above me by the candid speech;
The temperate judgment of its own;
The keener thoughts that grasp and reach
At things unknown.
"But I look up and he looks down,
And thus our married eyes can meet;
Unclouded his, and clear of frown,
And gravely sweet.
"And yet, O good, O wise and true!
I would for all my fealty,
That I could be as much to you
As you to me;
"And knew the deep secure content
Of wives who have been hardly won,
And, long petitioned, gave assent,
Jealous of none.
"But proudly sure in all the earth
No other in that homage shares,
Nor other woman's face or worth
Is prized as theirs."
I said: "And yet no lot below
For one whole day eludeth care.
Your thought." She answered, "Even so.
I would beware
"Regretful questionings; be sure
That very seldom do they rise,
Nor for myself do I endure--
I sympathize.
"For once"--she turned away her head,
Across the grass she swept her hand--
"There was a letter once," she said,
"Upon the sand.
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