FOURTH OPAL

We were alone: the perfumed night,

Moonlighted, like a flower

Grew round us and exhaled delight

To bless that one sweet hour.

You stood where,‘ mid the white and gold,

The rose-fire through the gloom

Touched hair and cheek and garment's fold

With soft, ethereal bloom.

And when the vision seemed to swerve,

‘ T was but the flickering shine

That gave new grace, a lovelier curve,

To every dream-like line.

O perfect vision! Form and face

Of womanhood complete!

O rare ideal to embrace

And hold, from head to feet!

Could I so hold you ever — could

Your eye still catch the glow

Of mine — it were an endless good:

Together we should grow

One perfect picture of our love!...

Alas, the embers old

Fell, and the moonlight fell, above —

Dim, shattered, vapor-cold.

What ill befell these lovers? Shall I say?

What tragedy of petty care and sorrow?

Ye all know, who have lived and loved: if nay,

Then those will know who live and love tomorrow.

But here at least is what this opal said,

The fifth in number: and the next two bore

My fancy toward that dim world of the dead,

Where waiting spirits muse the past life o'er: