The world grew sweet with wonder in the west
    The while he read and while she listened there,
  And many a dream from out its silken nest
    Stole like a curling incense through the air;
    Yet looked she not on him, nor did he dare: 
  But when the lovers kissed in Paradise
    His voice sank and he turned his gaze on her,
  Like a young bird that flutters ere it flies,—­
And lo! a shining angel called him from her eyes.

  Then from the silence sprang a kiss like flame,
    And they hung lost together; while around
  The world was changed, no more to be the same
    Meadow or sky, no little flower or sound
    Again the same, for earth grew holy ground: 
  While in the silence of the mounting moon
    Infinite love throbbed in the straining bound
  Of that great kiss, the long-delaying boon,
Granted indeed at last, but ended, ah! so soon.

  As the great sobbing fulness of the sea
    Fills to the throat some void and aching cave,
  Till all its hollows tremble silently,
    Pressed with sweet weight of softly-lapping wave: 
    So kissed those mighty lovers glad and brave. 
  And as a sky from which the sun has gone
    Trembles all night with all the stars he gave
  A firmament of memories of the sun,—­
So thrilled and thrilled each life when that great kiss was done.

  But coward shame that had no word to say
    In passion’s hour, with sudden icy clang
  Slew the bright morn, and through the tarnished day
    An iron bell from light to darkness rang: 
    She shut her ears because a throstle sang,
  She dare not hear the little innocent bird,
    And a white flower made her poor head to hang—­
  To be so white! once she was white as curd,
But now—­’Alack!’ ‘Alack!’ She speaks no other word.

  The pearly line on yonder hills afar
    Within the dawn, when mounts the lark and sings
  By the great angel of the morning star,—­
    That was his love, and all free fair fresh things
    That move and glitter while the daylight springs: 
  To thus know love, and yet to spoil love thus! 
    To lose the dream—­O silly beating wings—­
  Great dream so splendid and miraculous: 
O Lord, O Lord, have mercy, have mercy upon us.

  She turned her mind upon the holy ones
    Whose love lost here was love in heaven tenfold,
  She thought of Lucy, that most blessed of nuns
    Who sent her blue eyes on a plate of gold
    To him who wooed her daily for her love—­
  ‘Mine eyes!’ ‘Mine eyes!’ ‘Here,—­go in peace, they are!’
    But ever love came through the midnight grove,
  Young Love, with wild eyes watching from afar,
And called and called and called until the morning star.