And, ere they pass, shall she behold them turn
To her a face which evermore is his?
VI
In after years shall he remember how
Dawn had no breeze sweet as her murmured name?
And day no sunlight that availed the same
As her bright smile or beauty of her brow?
Nor had the conscious twilight's golds and grays
Her soul's allurement, that was free from blame,—
Nor dusk's advances, soft with starry flame,