She sat Through the long hour in which I read to her, Absorbed, entranced, as one who sits alone Within a dim cathedral, and resigns His spirit to the organ-theme, that mounts, Or sinks in tremulous pauses, or sweeps out On mighty pinions and with trumpet voice Through labyrinthine harmonies, at last Emerging, and through silver clouds of sound Receding and receding, till it melts In the abysses of the upper sky. It was not needful she should say a word; For in her glowing eyes and kindling face, I caught the full assurance that my heart Had yearned for; but she spoke her hearty praise And when I asked her for her criticism, Bestowed it with such modest deference To my opinion, as to spare my pride; Yet, with such subtle sense of harmony, And insight of proportion, that I saw That I should find no critic in the world More competent or more severe. I said, Gulping my pride: "Better this ordeal In friendly hands, before the time of types, Than afterward, in hands of enemies!" So, from that reading, it was understood Between us that, whenever I essayed Revising and retouching, I should know Her intimate impressions, and receive Her frank suggestions. In this oversight And constant interest of one whose mind Was excellent and pure, and raised above All motive to beguile me, I secured New inspiration. Weeks and months passed by With gradient hopefulness, and strength renewed At each renewal of the confidence I had reposed in her; till I perceived That I was living on her praise--that she Held God's place in me and the multitude's. And now, as I look back upon those days Of difficult endeavor, I confess That had she not been with me, I had failed-- Ay, foundered in mid-sea--my hope, my life, The spoil of deep oblivion. At last The work was done--the labored volume closed. "I cannot make it better," I exclaimed. "I can write better, but, before I write, I must have recognition in the voice Of public praise. A good paymaster pays When work is finished. Let him pay for this, And I will work again; but, till he pay, My leisure is my own, and I will wait." "And if he grudge your wage?" suggested she To whom I spoke. "I shall be finished too." Came then the proofs and latest polishing Of words and phrases--work I shared with her To whom I owed so much; and then the fear, The deathly heart-fall, and the haunting dread That go before exposure to the world Of inmost life, and utmost reach of power Toward revelation;--then the shrinking spell, When morbid love of self awaits in pain The verdict it has courted.