Page:Poems Dorr.djvu/350

What ill his joyous life can mar?
With home and glorious visions blest,
Glad in the work he loveth best!

But Love's clear eyes are quick to see;
And one fair spring, Hermione,
Sitting beneath her mulberry-tree
With her young children at her knee,
Saw Valdemar from day to day,
As one whose thoughts were far away,
With folded arms and drooping head
Pace the green aisles with silent tread;
Saw him stand moodily apart
With idle hands and brooding heart,
Or gaze at his still forms of clay,
Himself as motionless as they!
"O Valdemar!" she cried, "you bear
Some burden that I do not share!
I am your wife, your own true wife;
Shut me not out from heart and life!
Why brood you thus in silent pain?"
As shifts the changing weather-vane,
So came the old smile to his face,
Saluting her with courtly grace.
"Nay, nay, Hermione, not so!
No secret, bitter grief I know;
But, haunting all my dreams by night
And thoughts by day, one vision bright,
One nameless wonder, near me stands,
Claiming its birthright at my hands.
It hath your eyes, Hermione,
Your tender lips that smile for me;
It hath your perfect, stately grace,
The matchless beauty of your face.
But it hath more! for never yet