And marked it still descending, descending over my home.
And at last it fell! The shadow that long had frowned o’er me,
It fell; and I think my heart was benumbed with the blow;
Or perhaps ’twas the look of a dove in her eyes; or maybe
I had no room in my heart for hate, but only for woe.
For I could not hate her, so sweet was her angel face;
She was only an innocent child, and he won her love;
And I knew too well—too well, what it was to place
His smile above all things, below, above.