When at our board, All viands lifted by her hand became Ambrosial; and her light, elastic step From room to room, in busy household cares, Timed with my heart, and filled me with a sense Of harmony and peace. Days, weeks, and months Lapsed like soft measures, rhyming each with each. All charged with thoughtful ministries to me, And not to me alone; for I was proud To know that she was counted by the good As a good power among them,--by the poor, As angel sent of God, on whom they called His blessing down. She held her separate life Of prayer and Christian service, without show Of sanctity, without obtrusiveness; And, though I could but know she never sought A blessing for herself, forgetting me In her petition, not in all those months Did word of difference betray the gulf Between our souls and lives. She had her plan: I guessed it, and respected it. She felt That if her life were not an argument To move me, nothing that her lips might say Could win me to her wish. Pride would repel What it could not refute, and pleasantry Parry the thrusts that love could not resent. A whole year sped, yet not a line of verse Had grown beneath my pen. When I essayed To brace my powers to effort, and to call Forth from their camp and covert the bright ranks Of tuneful numbers, no responsive shout Answered the bugle-blast, and from my hand-- Irresolute and nerveless as a babe's-- My falchion fell. She rallied me on this; But I had nought to say, save this, perhaps: That she, being all my world, had left no room For other occupation than my love. She did not smile at this: it was no jest, But saddest truth. I had grown enervate In the warm atmosphere which I had breathed; And this, with consciousness that in her soul-- As warm with love as mine--each gentle power Was kindling with new life from day to day, Growing with my decline. Well, in good time, There came to us a child, the miniature Of her on whose dear breast my babyhood Was nursed and cradled; and my happy heart. Charged with a double tenderness, received And blessed the precious gift. Another fount Of human love gurgled to meet my lips. Another store of good, as rich and pure, In its own kind, as that from which I drank, Was thus discovered to my taste, and I Feasted upon its fulness.