A Poet’S Wife

TO L. A.

When first I saw thy face, I found thee fair, Dainty and fragrant as a perfect rose That in some sweet, secluded garden grows. Thou didst remind me of a jewel rare Most fitly set; a pearl a king might wear When, in high banquet-halls at daylight’s close, On blazoned walls a softened splendor glows, And pulsing music thrills the enchanted air. Again we met, one sullen wintry day; We talked of life and love, of sorrow’s night, Of death’s dark why and wherefore, till thine eyes Grew deep with thought and prayer. Then said I, “Nay! Why should thy rare bard mourn the Goddess’ flight? This muse shall lure him to song’s upper skies!”