Sighing, I wish'd he would let me alone;
Smiling, I long'd to hide out of his sight.

Life being lit by a fairy-like gleam,
Sparkling and glittering, tender and pure,
Was not he stupid to change such a dream
Into reality tame and secure?

'Tis sweet to find I am wrong in the thought,
Joy is but brighter for being confess'd;
Every moment has happiness brought,
Every stage of true love is the best.




They wish me at home to sit and to sew--
And I like to do what my aunt thinks right--
But the stitching never seem'd half so slow,
Nor zigzagg'd itself as it did one night.

And my work kept slipping out of my hand
As wonderful thoughts came into my head:
Sure, life is becoming too bright and grand
To be given up to needles and thread!

I was thinking of words that Harry spake,
And of looks that more than mere words betray,
With a joy as pure as the first snow-flake,
And almost as ready to melt away.