In the still shadow of its lonely sway,
Folded me closer, till the world held naught
Save the one being to my centred thought.
There was no music but his voice to hear,
No joy but such as with his step drew near;
Light was but where he look’d—life where he moved:
Silently, fervently, thus, thus I loved.
Oh! but such love is fearful!—and I knew
Its gathering doom: the soul’s prophetic sight
Even then unfolded in my breast, and threw