Though nothing high had stirred;

Now by the curtain inward blown

She stood, not seen, but heard,

Where faint moonlight dimmed or shone. . .

And neither spoke a word.

But could not stanch its cry;

The other knocked upon her breast

Impotently. . . while I

Glared rigid, labouring, possessed,

And dared not ask her why.

When within my arms I hold you,

Motionless in long surrender,

Then what love-words can I summon,

Tender as my heart is tender?

When within your arms you hold me,

And kisses speak your love unspoken,

Then my eyes with tears run over,

And my very heart is broken.

When the proud World does most my world despise,

Vaunting what most my human heart must grieve,

Choosing what most I value to disprize,

Deriding that most which I most believe-

When the proud World, I say, does mostoffend

The artless passion of my patient heart,

Til I despair the morrow and make amend,

And before sunset from the sun would part:

Then in my ruin's hour remembrance brings

Faith to my doubt, to my intention grace,

Reminding me how feebly fall such stings

On one ...