Her thick hair falling from its lilies hid
Their first long kiss of passion and content.
He heard her soft, glad murmur, as she slid
Within his hold, and ’gainst his bosom leant,
Whispering: “At last! at last! the years were sore.”
“Their spite,” he said, “shall do us wrong no more!”
What else, when mingled longings swell full-tide,
And the heart’s surges leap their bounds for aye,
And fell the landmarks? What but fate defied,
Time clutched, and any future held at bay?