He kisses my lips—­he presses my hand—­
  Looking straight in my face without surprise;
  But it seems that he cannot understand,
  And very wide of the mark he replies—­

  ’I will not shadow that innocent heart
  With the lightest cloud that may dim its light.’ 
  ’But my life in your life must take its part,
  Or I am lost in the darkness of night.

  I married you, Harry, for good or ill,
  For better or worse, for sickness or health. 
  O let me the beautiful vow fulfil,
  Joyously, utterly—­never by stealth! 
  I am not your wife while you treat me thus,
  And life is becoming too hard to bear;
  Is there that in the heart of one of us,
  That the heart of the other must not share?

  ’I almost died when you left me, my dear;
  Yet you did it quite for my good, you know;
  O where should I be if I was not here? 
  ’Neath a little grass hillock lying low! 
  You would be living, to labour and strive,
  And I should be lying quite dead—­quite dead! 
  You would be thinking of me as alive,
  While daisies were growing over my head.

  And now—­for my good—­will you crush my life
  With a burthen it cannot bear, I know? 
  O Harry, my darling, I am your wife—­
  O what have I done that you treat me so?’

  He stared in my eyes with a sort of frown,
  That more than a smile gave promise of grace;
  The mask that he wore fell suddenly down,
  A wonderful change came over his face.

  He sat at my feet, and his head he laid
  Low down on my lap, and he did not move,
  But he murmur’d softly, ’I am afraid
  I shall make a fool of myself, my love.’

  And then he suddenly burst into tears
  (I had never seen tears in Harry’s eyes),
  And he cried, ’If I live a hundred years,
  I shall see the wild face of Jack Devize!’

  Then I felt the doom that was o’er us laid,
  And our lives stood before me pale and gray;
  My heart turn’d sick—­I was feeling afraid—­
  As I kept kissing Harry’s tears away.

  And must his life be so faint and so dim? 
  And his heart be rack’d by a useless pain? 
  While I’m always trying to comfort him,
  And always trying to comfort in vain?

  Ah no, my beloved, it shall not be so,
  I will try so hard—­I will pray so much;
  Comfort will come to you, Harry, I know,
  And grief die out ’neath her delicate touch. 
  We must both be brave and must play our parts;
  We must fight the battle with weapons fit;
  Time will take sorrow out of our hearts,
  But oh, the pity—­the pity of it!

  There are no more secrets ’twixt you and me;
  Our hearts may reveal their thoughts as they pass;
  There is a ripple the less on the sea,
  And a purer light flits over the grass.