How long hath been the night! but morn breathes hope.
" I fain were true to you and to myself"—
Did she say thus ? or is my fevered brain
The fool of its desires ? The whole world swam ;
The blood rang beating in mine ears and roared
Like rushing waters; yet, as through a dream,
I saw her dimly. Surely on her lids
Shone the clear tears. As there s a God in heaven,
She spake those words! My lips retain the touch
Of those soft, snow-cold hands, neither refused
Nor proffered. Such things are, nor can they be
Forgotten or foreknown. Yes, she is mine.
But soft ! Her casement opes. Oh, joy, ’t is she!
Pale, in a cloud of white she stands and drinks
The morning sunlight.
MARIA (above at the window).
Ah, how sweet this air
Kisses my sleepless lids and burning temples.
I am not weary, though I found no rest.
My spirit leaps within me; a new glory
Blesses the dear, familiar scene—ripe orchard,
Garden and grove, and glimmering gulf beyond;
The same—yet oh, how different ! Even I thought
Soft music trembled on the listening air,
As though a harp were touched, blent with low song.
