I touched the shore; but when my hasting feet Started the homeward walk, there came a change. Down from the quiet stars there fell a voice, Heard in the innermost, that troubled me: "She is not more than you: why worship her? And she will die: what will remain for you? You may die first, indeed: then what resource? You have no sympathy with her in things Ordained within, her conscience and her life The things supreme: can there be marriage thus? Is e'en such bliss as may be possible Sure to be yours? Fate has a thousand hands To dash your lifted cup." With thoughts like these, A vague uneasiness invaded me, And toned the triumph of my passion, till, Almost in anger, I exclaimed at last: "This is reaction. I have flown too high Above the healthy level, and I feel The press of denser air. The equipoise Of circumstance and feeling will be reached All in good time. Rest and to-morrow's sun Will bring the remedy, and, with the mists, This cloud will pass away." Then with clenched hands I swore I would be happy,--that my soul Should find its satisfaction in her love; And that, if there should ever come a time Of cold satiety, or I should find Weakness or fault where I had thought was strength And full perfection, I would e'en endow Her poverty with all the hoarded wealth Of my imagination, making her The woman of my want, in plenitude Of strength and loveliness. The breezy days Over whose waves my buoyant life careered, Rolled to October, falling on its beach With bursts of mellow music; and I leaped Upon the longed-for shore; for, in that month, My dear betrothed, deferring to the stress Of my impatient wish, had promised me Her hand in wedlock.