Her, so young, so pure, so dove-like, that the love-like angels whom a
Sweet aroma circles ever wheresoe’er they wave their wings,
Felt with her the air grow sweeter, felt with her their joy completer,
Felt their gladness swell to madness, silent grow their silver strings.
Then I heard her voice’s murmur breathing summer, while my spirit
Leaned to hear it and to drink it like a draught of pleasant wine;
Felt her head upon my shoulder drooping as my love I told her,
Felt the utterly pleased flutter of her heart respond to mine.
Then I saw our darlings clearly that more nearly linked our gladness;
Saw our sadness as a lost one sank from pain to happy rest;