I thought; but all my thinking stirr’d but thought Until, one time, I mused of other days; How once, and at the merest hint of love, My younger blood, like some just conquering host That trembling hope bears on, would bound through veins That thrill’d and thrill’d while shook each trodden pulse; How, hot as deserts parch’d by swift simoons, And wild as forests fell’d by sudden blasts, My frame would glow and bend at every breath That tidings bore me of the soul I loved. Love Grace did I?—How then had love been tamed! Mere self-control was it, that now, grown strong, Had broken in, at last, that bounding blood, And held the rein to joy?—Ah, self-control, The rest rheumatic of a zest grown old, It came with time; but mine had come from care. Cold self-control, the curse of northern climes, The artful despot of the Arctic heart,— Before my summer scarce had warm’d me yet, Was it to freeze me with its wintry clutch Of colorless indifference? chill and check The springs of love till still’d in ice-like death? Woe me! I sigh’d; but then, with nobler cause, More nobly moved, I mourn’d that older love. It aye had come from regions far and pure, From sacred heights of dream-land and desire, And trailing light like Moses from the mount, With one hand clasping mine, one pointing up To something earthly, yet more near the sky. It aye had thrill’d the throbbing veins it near’d And made my brow flush proudly as the boor’s When king’s hands knight him, and he bears away Ennobled blood forever.—My mood though— This lax-limb’d, loitering, sisterly regard, So cold, so calm, so cautious,—what was this?— To call it love my spirit could have swoon’d, Shrunk like some parent’s when he first has found His fair babe’s brain to be a gibbering blank.— And then, down underneath my deep despair, Where heaved a sigh that loosen’d all my soul, Like some sweet kiss of sudden death that draws To sudden bliss, when men to heaven are snatch’d From all the roar and rage of war, there came One hope for Edith;—and my shaken powers Lost hold of Grace forever! LX. Still would doubt Survive, and question if, when off my guard, In fancy rampant, I had Grace deceived As I had Elbert? Could it be, indeed, That I, who wish’d it not, had won her love? And if so, what?—The problem wore me thin. My very wits, indeed, seem’d whittled off To point and probe it. Strangely was it solved. I dropp’d a vague surmise,—how two “should act, In case one loved, and love were not return’d.”