If she should grow like him, she knew
  He would admire and love her less;
  The eagle’s image might be true,
  But eagle of the wilderness
  Would find no consort in the view.

  A woman, in her woman’s sphere,
  A loyal wife and worshipper,
  She only thirsted to appear
  As fair to him as he to her,
  And fairer still, from year to year.

  And he who quickly learned to purge
  His fancy of the tender whim
  That she was floating at the verge
  Of womanhood, half hid to him,
  Saw her with gracious mien emerge,

  And stand full-robed upon the shore,
  With faculties and charms unguessed;
  With wondrous eyes that looked before,
  And hands that helped and words that blessed—­
  The mistress of an alien lore

  Beyond the wisdom of the schools
  And all his manly power to win;
  With handicraft of tricks and tools
  That conjured marvels with a pin,
  And miracles with skeins and spools!

  She seemed to mock his dusty dearth
  With flowers that sprang beneath his eyes;
  Till all he was, seemed little worth,
  And she he deemed so little wise,
  Became the wisest of the earth.

  In all the struggles of his soul,
  And all the strifes his soul abhorred,
  She shone before him like a goal—­
  A shady power of fresh reward—­
  A shallop riding in the mole,

  That waited with obedient helm
  To bear him over sparkling seas,
  Into a new and fragrant realm,
  Before the vigor of a breeze
  That drove, but would not overwhelm.

  IX.

  The river of their life was one;
  The shores, down which they passed were two;
  One mirrored mountains, huge and dun,
  The other crimped the green and blue,
  And sparkled in the kindly sun!

  Twin barks, with answering flags, they moved
  With even canvas down the stream,
  In smooth or ruffled waters grooved,
  And found such islands in their dream
  As rest and loving speech behooved.

  Ah fair the goodly gardens smiled
  On Philip at his rougher strand! 
  And grandly loomed the summits, isled
  In seas of cloud, to her who scanned
  From her far shore the lofty wild.

  Two lives, two loves—­both self-forgot
  In loving homage to their oath;
  Two lives, two loves, but living not
  By ministry that reached them both
  In service of a common lot,

  They sailed the stream, and every mile
  Broadened with beauty as they passed;
  And fruitful shore and trysting-isle,
  And all love’s intercourse were glassed
  And blessed in Heaven’s benignant smile.

  X.

  To symmetry the oak is grown
  Which all winds visit on the lea,
  While that which lists the monotone
  Of the long blast that sweeps the sea,
  And answers to its breath alone,