So I sought her here, the young Earl's bride; In the ancient room at the oriel dreaming, Pale as the blooms in her hair; and, wide, Her robe's rich satin, flung stormily, gleaming, Like shimmering silver, twilight-dyed. I marked as I stole to her side that tears Were vaguely large in her beautiful eyes; That the loops of pearls on her throat, and years Old lace on her bosom were heaved with sighs; So I spoke what I thought--"Then, it appears"-- And stopped with, it seemed, my soul in my gaze-- "That you are not happy, Leona of Verne? There is that at your heart which--well, betrays These mocking mummeries.--Live and learn!-- And this is the truth that the poet says:-- "'I went to my love and I told with my heart, In words of the soul, that are silent in speech, All of my passion, too sacred for art; But she heard me not--for I could not reach Her in that world of which she is part.'-- "That world, where I saw you as one afar Sees palms and waters, and knows that sands, Pitiless sands, before him are; Yet follows ever with helpless hands Till he sinks at last.--You were my star, "My hope, my heaven!--I loved you!... Life Is less than nothing to me!"... She turned, With a wild look, saying--"Now I am his wife You come and tell me!--Indeed you are learn'd In the language of hearts that's unheard!"... A Knife, As she ceased and leaned on a cabinet,-- A curve of scintillant steel, keen, cold,-- Fell icily clashing; some curio met Among Asian antiques, bronze and gold, Mystical, curiously graven and set. A Bactrian dagger, whose slightest prick Through its ancient poison was death, I knew; If true that she loved me--then!--And quick To the unspoken thought she replied, "'T is true! I have loved you long, and my soul was sick, "Sick for the love that has made me weak, Weak to your will even now!"--And more She said, in my arms, that I shall not speak-- And the dagger there on the polished floor Ever her eyes, while she spoke, would seek. "'And it came to pass on the wedding-day'"-- Then my lips for a moment were crushed to hers-- "'That they found her dead in her bridal array,'" She sang; then said, "You finish the verse! Finish the song, for you know the way." And I whispered "yes," for my mind had thought Her own thought through--that life were a hell To her as to me,--So the blade I caught With a sudden hand; and she leaned, and--well, What a little wound, and the blood it brought To crimson her bosom!--I set her there In that carven chair; then turned the blade,-- With its glittering haft one savage glare Of gold and jewels, wildly inlaid,-- To my breast, for the poisonous point rent bare.