"'My soul is dark--oh! quickly string The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle fingers fling Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. If in this heart a hope be dear, That sound shall charm it forth again; If in those eyes there lurk a tear, 'Twill flow and cease to burn my brain.' "'And how natural, Margaret, it is for the man steeped in love as I am to search out consolation amid the sweet concord of poetry. And so seeking the thought attuned to mine, I also say: "'But let the strain be wild and deep, Nor let the notes of joy be first; I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep, Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nursed, And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 'tis doomed to know the worst And break at once--or yield to song.' "'My writing is usually over at midnight, and when I have returned from the corner, where I post the letter, I sit me down in the darkness to ponder on what I have composed. How dull it seems to me then; how poorly expressed these sentiments too deep for words of mine, and not always within range of such poetry as I can find! Moods are so fleeting, too; some tender thought passes over me and for a moment I am lost in the rare atmosphere of mountain-tops to which it summons me. When I come to tell of this magic wrought by your innocent witchery, I find it quite impossible to explain, as the essence of my heavenly flight is all so poetic and strange a mere mortal like myself cannot interpret the feeling. It surely cannot be that all men who love are so entranced. It must be that within the circle of your enchanting power a superior charm prevails: "'There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters, Is thy sweet voice to me; When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming. "'The moon is your partner in this mysterious midnight revel, Margaret: "'And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep, Whose breast is gently heaving, As an infant's asleep; So the spirit bows before thee, To listen and adore thee, With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean.' "'How wise, after all, your advice to be hopeful! The sweetest moments of our lives are passing now while we are wrapped in our devotion to each other. All sounds are sweet-- "''Tis sweet to hear At midnight on the blue moonlit deep, The song and oar of Adria's gondolier, By distance mellowed o'er the water's sweep. 'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear; 'Tis sweet to listen to the night winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky.'"