Love caught his heart in a lovely surprise,

Just the first moment he looked in my eyes:

Poor little eyes! by no prescience lit,

They saw him three weeks ere I lov'd him one bit.

Fair is the book¹ where we read of a life

Born to a throne, taking love for its bliss,

Self-reproach wounding the sweet royal wife

For keeping two years he had asked for as his.

So I might suffer a sort of remorse,

Thinking of days that I cared not, yet knew;

Only, he says, ''Tis a matter of course

Girls should be woo'd and their lovers should woo.'

Only, the blossom he stoops not to touch.

Sparkling with beauty that lies at his feet;

Only, the blossom he coveteth much,

Is one that shineth as distant as sweet.

Only, a bird may fly helplessly near,

Chirping aloud in a manner too free;

Only, the bird he delighteth to hear,

Sings from the far-away top of a tree.

Is it for this he first fancied me, then?

He to whom earth her allegiance brings,

Noblest of nobles, a king among men,

Hero of heroes! a god among kings!

'Twill be very nice to be very old,

And with wrinkled brows and eyes that are dim,

To sit by the fire and in dreams behold

The face of the child that was woo'd by him.

Eve in her Eden, belov'd and preferr'd,

Sun, moon, and stars for her benefit made,

Bright as a blossom and gay as a bird,

Earth at her feet like a pleasure-ground laid;

All things about her benignant and fair—

Was she of Adam an actual part?

Love shining over her everywhere—

Had he no trouble in winning her heart?

Born with a mind even Kant must admit

Had no antecedents for doubt or regret,

Only white paper where nothing is writ,

Was she his wife the first moment they met?

Did she no gradual wooing receive?

Was she never a girl?—I am sorry for Eve!

Or if like others her history sped,

In those lovely regions to mortals unknown;

Flirting and courting and woo'd ere she wed,

Was the bird of her paradise Eve's chaperone?

I wonder if Adam my fancy would strike

As something like Harry!—What is Harry like?

Handsome and tall, with command in his eye,

The sweetest of smiles giving sternness the lie;

His soldierly bearing keeps foemen at bay;

His hair is clipped close in the orthodox way;

His nose has a curve from the bridge to the tip:

A statue might envy his short upper lip.

He dances divinely, and walks with an air

Half autocratic and half debonair,

With something about him no words can define:

Eve, was your hero as handsome as mine?

And oh! the years that pass'd over my head

When I was leisurely growing or grown;

And oh! the minutes that suddenly led

To the sweetest thought that ever was known.

Only one glad little glance that I gave,

Where by the window the passion-flower grew,

And a strong man was turn'd into a slave,

Watching and waiting for all that I do.

And a strong man's heart beat only for me—

Only for me while it answers life's call;

Till I was compell'd to hear and to see;

And only one little look did it all!

Oh, such an infinitesimal thing!

One unthought-of minute hurrying by,

And the whole of two lives yet in their spring

Are utterly chang'd for ever and aye!

If with idle heart and with careless eyes

I had not happened just there and just then

To smile at a flower beneath the skies,

Should I never have lov'd the first of men?

Had he seen me first in a festal hour,

Or riding, or driving, or by the sea,

And not with a smile for the passion-flower,

Would he never, never have cared for me?

Who planted the root, and its climbing plann'd?

Who water'd below or cherish'd above?

Is it the work of a gardener's hand

That causes my Harry and me to love?

Had that gardener never been born or hir'd,

Or done this one insignificant thing;

Had the passion-flower died;—my heart is tir'd

With the troublesome sudden thoughts that spring;

And mine eyes are filling with foolish tears,

And the pang that I feel is sharp and keen,

As I see the empty unhappy years,

And I think of all that might not have been.

Treason to love, that such thoughts should arise!

In Heaven I know our marriage was made;

Heaven is somewhere beyond those blue skies,

Why am I weeping and feeling afraid?

Happy the angels, who tenderly plan

These beautiful compacts to glorify man!

Happy the man and the woman who take

Humbly their crown for the dear angels' sake!

Love in our hearts giving strength to endure,

Eternal itself, makes eternity sure;

Earth growing perfect, unspeakably dear,

Only makes heaven seem yet more near.

Why do I tremble in fanciful doubt?

All things—or nothing—had brought it about;

Whatever might happen, I must be his;

What signifies talking, since so