Stranger

Wait for the sunset that beckons far away, Then--as you will! But, meantime, friends, believe me, Nowhere on earth lives a purer woman; nay, If my perceptions do surely not deceive me, She is the lady we have inside to-day. As for the man--you see that blackened pine tree, Up which the green vine creeps heavenward away! He was that scarred trunk, and she the vine that sweetly Clothed him with life again, and lifted--