“Maiden, I have loved other maidens.”  Pale
Her red lips grew.  “I loved them; yes, but they,
One after one, in trial’s hour did fail;
For after sunset, clouds again are grey.” 
A sudden light flashed through the silken veil
That drooping hid her eyes; and then there lay
A stillness on her face, waiting; and then
The little clock rung out the hour of ten.

Moaning again the great pine-branches bow,
As if they tried in vain the wind to stem. 
Still looking in her eyes, the youth said—­“Thou
Art not more beautiful than some of them;
But more of earnestness is on thy brow;
Thine eyes are beaming like some dark-bright gem
That pours from hidden heart upon the night
The rays it gathered from the noon-day light.

“Look on this hand, beloved; thou didst see
The horse that broke from many, it did hold: 
Two hours shall pass away, and it will be
All withered up and dry, wrinkled and old,
Big-veined, and skinny to extremity.” 
Calmly upon him looked the maiden bold;
The stag-hounds rose, and gazed on him, and then,
With a low whine, laid themselves down again.

A minute’s silence, and the youth spake on: 
“Dearest, I have a fearful thing to bear”
(A pain-cloud crossed his face, and then was gone)
“At midnight, when the moon sets; wilt thou dare
To go with me, or must I go alone
To meet an agony that will not spare?”
She spoke not, rose, and towards her mantle went;
His eyes did thank her—­she was well content.

“Not yet, not yet; it is not time; for see
The hands have far to travel to the hour;
Yet time is scarcely left for telling thee
The past and present, and the coming power
Of the great darkness that will fall on me: 
Roses and jasmine twine the bridal bower—­
If ever bower and bridal joy be mine,
Horror and darkness must that bower entwine.”

Under his head the maiden put her arm,
And knelt beside, half leaning on his breast;
As, soul and body, she would shield all harm
From him whose love had made her being blest;
And well the healing of her eyes might charm
His doubting thoughts again to trusting rest. 
He drew and hid her face his heart upon,
Then spoke with low voice sounding changeless on.

Strange words they were, and fearful, that he spake;
The maiden moved not once, nor once replied;
And ever as he spoke, the wind did make
A feebler moan until away it died;
Then the rain ceased, and not a movement brake
The silence, save the clock that did divide
The hours into quick moments, sparks of time
Scorching the soul that watcheth for the chime.

He spoke of sins that pride had caused in him;
Of sufferings merciful, and wanderings wild;
Of fainting noontides, and of oceans dim;
Of earthly beauty that had oft beguiled;
And then the sudden storm and contest grim;
From each emerging new-born, more a child;
Wandering again throughout the teaching earth,
No rest attaining, only a new birth.