RETROSPECT

“Backward,” he said, “dear heart I like to look

To those half-spring, half-winter days, when first

We drew together, ere the leaf-buds burst.

Sunbeams were silver yet, keen gusts yet shook

The boughs. Have you remembered that kind book,

That for our sake Galeotto's part rehearsed,

( The friend of lovers,— this time blessed, not cursed! )

And that best hour, when reading we forsook?”

She, listening, wore the smile a mother wears

At childish fancies needless to control;

Yet felt a fine, hid pain with pleasure blend.

Better it seemed to think that love of theirs,

Native as breath, eternal as the soul,

Knew no beginning, could not have an end.