That was most precious--Oh! my heart was wild
With the delirium of happiness--
But, Mary, you are weeping!

_Mary_.

Mark it not.
Your words wake memories which you may guess,
And thoughts which you may sometime know--not now.

_Grace_.

Well, we were married, as I said; and I
Was not unthankful utterly, I think;
Though, if the awful question had come then,
And stood before me with a brow severe
And steady finger, bidding me decide
Which of the two I loved the more, the God
Who gave my husband to me, or his gift,
I know I should have groaned, and shut my eyes.

We passed a honeymoon whose atmosphere,
Flooded with inspiration, and embraced
By a wide sky set full of starry thoughts,
And constellated visions of delight,
Still wraps me in my dreams--itself a dream.
The full moon waned at last, and in my sky,
With horn inverted, gave its sign of tears;
And then, when wasted to a skeleton,
It sank into a heaving sea of tears