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If all the signs are coming true,
I am the child she pictured, who
The name should keep or hide from view.
In our domain of liberty,
Our heed is light of pedigree,
I care not for the prophecy.
For what to me our wealth or line?
I only wish to make her mine—
The maid my aunt asked in to dine.
VIII.
HOW A POOR GIRL WAS MADE RICH.
All the day my toil was easy, for I knew that in the evening,
I could go home from my labor, and find Blanche at the door;
How could I dream the sunlight in my sky was so deceiving?
And I ceased in my believing 'twould be cloudy ever more.
When at last the twilight deepened, I entered our low dwelling,
And my darling rose to meet me, with the love-light in her eyes;
