I am happy in his love
And thank God for it, nay, propitiate
With vows and offering; I fear a wrath
Called down on too great happiness; I fear—
I know not what—Oh, I possess a gift
So rare and precious, that, like men who go
Laden with rubies, I am grown suspect
Of all the earth and heaven, feel the stars
Peer covetously on me. Every hour
That he is from my side a cloud of woe
Settles upon me like a swarm of bees.
Ah, is it possible that we can sin
In happiness, against a jealous God?
THE MOTHER
Nay, nay, these foolish thoughts! your wits are strayed
With too much brooding: let me bind afresh
The knot of scarlet lilies in your hair;
They fade already, for the sun is high
Towards the noon: Ah, child, what waits for you
But love, and yet more love, and happiness,
And children of delight, and in old age
Respect of all the peoples, and at last
Death in his arms and burial in peace?
Still do you tremble, what is it you fear?
THE WIFE
Can you not feel a something in the air,
A warning, or a presence, or the weight
Of some unguessed-at horror, that, like dust
Impalpable and deadly, clings and kills?
There is some terror—'tis my heart that speaks
And warns me—ah! would God indeed, your son,
(My love and husband) had another father
Than that celestial being. This it is
That puts eternal sadness on his brow,
And shade within his eyes I cannot lift,
Even with kisses; 'tis the angel nature
That makes him sit spell-woven in a trance,
Chin in his hand, and eyes on vacancy,
And lips all bare of love, the while his soul
Struggles against the bonds of finity.
THE MOTHER
Ah, how you love him!
THE WIFE
More because of it,
This kingdom infinite I cannot know
Though loving him.
THE MOTHER