I chose a book to read and dream:
Yet half the while with furtive eyes 210
Marked how she made her choice of flowers
Intuitively wise,
And ranged them with instinctive taste
Which all my books had failed to teach;
Fresh rose herself, and daintier
Than blossom of the peach.
By birthright higher than myself,
Tho' nestling of the self-same nest:
No fault of hers, no fault of mine,
But stubborn to digest. 220
I watched her, till my book unmarked
Slid noiseless to the velvet floor;
Till all the opulent summer-world
Looked poorer than before.
Just then her busy fingers ceased,
Her fluttered colour went and came;
I knew whose step was on the walk,
Whose voice would name her name.
* * * * * * *
Well, twenty years have passed since then:
My sister now, a stately wife 230
Still fair, looks back in peace and sees
The longer half of life—
The longer half of prosperous life,
With little grief, or fear, or fret:
She loved, and, loving long ago,
Is loved and loving yet.
A husband honourable, brave,
Is her main wealth in all the world:
And next to him one like herself,
One daughter golden-curled; 240
Fair image of her own fair youth,
As beautiful and as serene,
With almost such another love
As her own love has been.