"But I look up and he looks down,
And thus our married eyes can meet;
Unclouded his, and clear of frown,
And gravely sweet.
"And yet, O good, O wise and true!
I would for all my fealty,
That I could be as much to you
As you to me;
"And knew the deep secure content
Of wives who have been hardly won,
And, long petitioned, gave assent,
Jealous of none.
"But proudly sure in all the earth
No other in that homage shares,
Nor other woman's face or worth
Is prized as theirs."
I said: "And yet no lot below
For one whole day eludeth care.
Your thought." She answered, "Even so.
I would beware
"Regretful questionings; be sure
That very seldom do they rise,
Nor for myself do I endure—
I sympathize.
"For once"—she turned away her head,
Across the grass she swept her hand—
"There was a letter once," she said,
"Upon the sand."
"There was, in truth, a letter writ
On sand," I said, "and swept from view;
But that same hand which fashioned it
Is given to you.
"Efface the letter; wherefore keep
An image which the sands forego?"
"Albeit that fear had seemed to sleep,"
She answered low,
"I could not choose but wake it now;
For do but turn aside your face,
A house on yonder hilly brow
Your eyes may trace.