THE OLD POET AND HIS WIFE.
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From fierce kings' voices, sounding whereGreat Helen lives forever fair!
"And so, far down the years that yearnFor light and blossom, hid in doom,Some eve when skyey fires burnTo ashes, one in some dim roomThe strain of an old book shall learn,And thumb a yellowing leaf, and turnTo see you stand there and illumeWith sudden shining all the gloom:
"Just as on that dear day I firstDrew out, with tender artifice,The length of the thick curls that pursedTheir clinging, clasping shapes to missNone of the sunshine, all athirst,Like globes of Shiraz grapes that burstGold from the shade. And one bold kissRapt me,—like this, old wife, and this!
"Ay, though a thousand years be fled,The sight denied me he shall have:The quick throbs kindling rosy redThe dimpled damask that they gave,
