With the gift That brimmed my cup of joy, there came a grace To her who bore it of fresh loveliness. If I had loved the maiden and the bride, The mother, through whose pain my heart had won Its new possession, fastened to my heart With a new sympathy. Whatever dross Our months of intimacy had betrayed Within her character, was purged away, And she was left pure gold. Nay, I should say, Whatever goodness had not been revealed Through the relations of her heart to mine As loving maid and mistress, found the light Through her maternity. A heavenly change Passed o'er her soul and o'er her pallid face, As if the unconscious yearning of a life Had found full satisfaction in the birth Of the new being. Her long weariness Was but a trance of peace and gratitude; And as she lay--her babe upon her breast, Her eyelids closed--I could but feel that heaven, Should it hold all the good of which she dreamed Had little more for her. And when again She moved about the house, in ministry To me and to her helpless child, I knew That I had tasted every precious good That woman bears to man. Ay, more than this: That not one man in thousands had received Such largess of affection, and such prize Of womanhood, as I had found in her, And made my own. The whole enchanting round Of pure, domestic commerce had been mine. A lover blest, a husband satisfied, A father crowned! Love had no other boon To offer me, and held within its gift No other title. Thus, within the space Of two swift years, I traversed the domain Of novelty, and learned that I must glean The garnered fields of my experience To gratify the greed that still possessed My sateless heart. The time had come to me-- Which I had half foreseen--when, by my will, My interest in those I loved should live Predominant in all my life. I nursed With jealous care my passion for my wife. I raised her to an apotheosis In my imagination, where I bowed And paid my constant homage. I was still Her fond and loyal lover; but my heart, That had so freely drunk, with full content, Had seen the bottom of the cup she held; And what remained but tricks to eke it out, And artifice to give it piquancy, And sips to cool my tongue, the while my heart Was hollow with its thirst? My little child Was precious to my soul beyond all price; Mother and babe were all that they could be To any heart of man; and yet--and yet!