53
Her eye's young glance: the fickle chance
That joined us, yet may join again;
But I no face again could greet
As her's, whose life was in me then.
As unsuspecting mere a maid
As, fresh in maidhood's bloomiest bloom,
In casual second-class did e'er
By casual youth her seat assume;
Or vestal, say, of saintliest clay,
For once by balmiest airs betrayed
Unto emotions too too sweet
To be unlingeringly gainsaid:
Unowning then, confusing soon
With dreamier dreams that o'er the glass
Of shyly ripening woman-sense
Reflected, scarce reflected, pass,
A wife may-be, a mother she
In Hymen's shrine recals not now,
She first in hour, ah, not profane,
With me to Hymen learnt to bow.
Ah no!—Yet owned we, fused in one,
The Power which e'en in stones and earths
By blind elections felt, in forms
Organic breeds to myriad births;
