“Ah,” sigh’d he, “we two souls were fitted so
To match each other. Here, where jars the world,
And all goes contrary, where every sun
That ripes this, withers that; and every storm
That brings refreshment here, sends deluge there,
We two, exceptions to the general rule,
Like living miracles (is love fulfill’d
A miracle indeed?), seem’d born to draw
The self-same tale of weal or woe from each.
I saw but last night, darling, in my dreams,