is unique in the annals of literature. At first she is afraid of her own love, and bids him "Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore Alone upon the threshold of my door Of individual life, I shall command The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand Serenely in the sunshine as before, Without the sense of that which I forebore . . . Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine With pulses that beat double. What I do And what I dream, include thee as the wine Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue God for myself, He hears that name of thine And sees within my eyes the tears of two." The whole outlook of life soon changed to the gentle invalid, as she tells him later. "The face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul Move still, oh, still beside me, as they stole Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink Of obvious death, where I who thought to sink Was caught up into love and taught the whole Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink, And praise its sweetness, sweet with thee anear. The name of country, heaven, are changed away For where thou art or shalt be, there or here; And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday (The singing angels know) are only dear Because thy name moves right in what they say." The wonder of how she could have been able to live without him impresses her much. "Beloved, my beloved, when I think That thou wast in the world a year ago, What time I sat alone here in the snow And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink No moment at thy voice . . . but link by link Went counting all my chains as if that so They never could fall off at any blow Struck by thy possible hand . . . why, thus I drink Of life's great cup of wonder. Wonderful, Never to feel thee thrill the day or night With personal act or speech, nor ever cull Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull, Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight." But in order to tell the whole story we should have to quote all the "Sonnets from the Portuguese,"--and they would make an alluring chapter certainly,--but we must refrain. The result was that, "As brighter ladies do not count it strange For love to give up acres and degree, I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange My near, sweet view of Heaven for earth with thee."