the blush
Yet on her face, she said:  “It was your due: 
But keep this matter from your friends and kin,
We would not have it known.”  Then cold and proud,
Because there leaped from under his straight lids,
And instantly was veiled, a keen surprise,—­
“He wills it, and I therefore think it well.” 
Thereon they parted; but from that time forth,
Whether they met on festal eve, in field,
Or at the church, she ever bore herself
Proudly, for she had felt a certain pain,
The disapproval hastily betrayed
And quickly hidden hurt her. “’T was a grace,”
She thought, “to tell this man the thing he asked,
And he rewards me with surprise.  I like
No one’s surprise, and least of all bestowed
Where he bestowed it.” 
                       But the spring came on: 
Looking to wed in April all her thoughts
Grew loving; she would fain the world had waxed
More happy with her happiness, and oft
Walking among the flowery woods she felt
Their loveliness reach down into her heart,
And knew with them the ecstasies of growth,
The rapture that was satisfied with light,
The pleasure of the leaf in exquisite
Expansion, through the lovely longed-for spring.

And as for him,—­(Some narrow hearts there are
That suffer blight when that they fed upon
As something to complete their being fails,
And they retire into their holds and pine,
And long restrained grow stern.  But some there are,
That in a sacred want and hunger rise,
And draw the misery home and live with it,
And excellent in honor wait, and will
That somewhat good should yet be found in it,
Else wherefore were they born?),—­and as for him,
He loved her, but his peace and welfare made
The sunshine of three lives.  The cheerful grange
Threw open wide its hospitable doors
And drew in guests for him.  The garden flowers,
Sweet budding wonders, all were set for him. 
In him the eyes at home were satisfied,
And if he did but laugh the ear approved. 
What then?  He dwelt among them as of old,
And taught his mouth to smile. 
                               And time went on,
Till on a morning, when the perfect spring
Rested among her leaves, he journeying home
After short sojourn in a neighboring town,
Stopped at the little station on the line
That ran between his woods; a lonely place
And quiet, and a woman and a child
Got out.  He noted them, but walking on
Quickly, went back into the wood, impelled
By hope, for, passing, he had seen his love,
And she was sitting on a rustic seat
That overlooked the line, and he desired
With longing indescribable to look
Upon her face again.  And he drew near. 
She was right happy; she was waiting there. 
He felt that she was waiting for her lord. 
She cared no whit if Laurance went or stayed,
But answered when he spoke, and dropped her cheek