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THE LOVER'S TALE.
19
With its true-touchéd pulses in the flow
And hourly visitation of the blood,
Sent notes of preparation manifold,
And mellowed echoes of the outer world—
My mother's sister, mother of my love,
Who had a twofold claim upon my heart,
One twofold mightier than the other was,
In giving so much beauty to the world,
And so much wealth as God had charged her with—
Loathing to put it from herself for ever.
Left her own life with it; and dying thus,
Crowned with her highest act the placid face
And breathless body of her good deeds past.
So were we born, so orphan'd. She was motherless
And I without a father. So from each
Of those two pillars which from earth uphold
Our childhood, one had fallen away, and all
