Reconciliation

Listen, dearest! you must love me more, More than you did before!— Hark, what a beating here of wings! Never at rest, Dear, in your breast!— Is it your heart with its flutterings, Making a music, love, for us both? Or merely a moth, a velvet-winged moth, Which out of the garden's fragrance swings, Weaving a spell, That holds the rose and the moon in thrall?— I love you more than I can tell; And no recall How long ago Our quarrel and all!— You say, you know, A perfect pearl grows out of—well, A little friction; tiny grain Of sand or shell— So love grew out of that moment's pain, The heart's disdain— Since then I have thought of no one but you, And how your heart would beat on mine, Like light on dew. And I thought how foolish to fret and pine! Better to claim the fault all mine! To go to you and tell you that: And how stale and flat All life without you was, and vain! And when I came, you turned and smiled, Like a darling child, And I knew from your look that, in your heart, You had followed the self-same train Of thought that made me yours again.— Dearest! no more!— We shall never part!— So. Turn your face as you did before.— I smooth your brow And kiss you.—Now.... Tell me true— Did you miss me, dear, as I missed you?