I gave no formal comfort; you, no thanks; For tears had been your language, kisses mine, And we were friends. We talked about our dolls, And all the pretty playthings we possessed. Then we revealed, with childish vanity, Our little stores of knowledge. I was full Of a sweet marvel when you pointed out The yellow thighs of bees that, half asleep, Plundered the secrets of the lily-bells, And called the golden pigment honeycomb. And your black eyes were opened very wide When I related how, one sunny day, I found a well, half covered, down the lane, That was so deep and clear that I could see Straight through the world, into another sky! _Mary_. Do you remember how the Guinea hens Set up a scream upon the garden wall, That frightened me to running, when you screamed With laughter quite as loud? _Grace_. Aye, very well; But better still the scene that followed all. Oh, that has lingered in my memory Like that divinest dream of Raphael-- The Dresden virgin prisoned in a print-- That watched with me in sickness through long weeks, And from its frame upon the chamber-wall Breathed constant benedictions, till I learned To love the presence like a Roman saint. My mother called us in; and at her knee, Embracing still, we stood, and felt her smile Shine on our upturned faces like the light Of the soft summer moon. And then she stooped; And when she kissed us, I could see the tears Brimming her eyes. O sweet experiment! To try if love of Jesus and of me Could make our kisses equal to her lips! Then straight my prescient heart set up a song, And fluttered in my bosom like a bird. I knew a blessing was about to fall, As robins know the coming of the rain, And bruit the joyous secret, ere its steps Are heard upon the mountain tops. I knew You were to be my sister; and my heart Was almost bursting with its love and pride. I could not wait to hear the kindly words Our mother spoke--her counsels and commands-- For you were mine--my sister! So I tore Your clinging hand from hers with rude constraint, And took you to my chamber, where I played With you, in selfish sense of property, The whole bright afternoon. And here again, Within this same old chamber we are met. We told our secrets to each other then; Thus let us tell them now; and you shall be To my grief-burdened soul what you have said, So many times that I have been to yours. _Mary_. Alas! I never meant to tell my tale To other ear than God's; but you have claims Upon my confidence,--claims just rehearsed, And other claims which you have never known. _Grace_. And other claims which I have never known! You speak in riddles, love. I only know You grew to womanhood, were beautiful, Were loved and wooed, were married and were blest;--