Carved in dull ebony, one somber row Of straight palms, etched in sudden, sharp relief, Against a molten-copper afterglow.... Oh, Hour of Enchantment, past belief, When down the garden paths the peacocks go, In plumed splendor and with stately tread. Across the shadowed valleys cool winds blow, From where the smoke-blue mountain rears its head. Beyond the world's rim, slips the ghost-wan Day, To draw Night's curtain close about her bed And set a star to light her to her rest, While Evening, shaking free her dusky hair, Lures every weary bird to seek its nest, And, kissing shut the tired eyes of care, Lulls Earth to peace upon her gentle breast. "I didn't mean you to know," I said, as he took the verse away from me again and put it back in his pocket. "But you told Wright," said he. "That was different," I answered, firmly. "Mad?" "N-No!" He slipped his arm around me. "Mavis," he said very softly, "Mavis with the amber hair and the deep brown eyes. Mavis, child and poet and--all mine." "You're not laughing?" I asked anxiously. "I mean, about the verses?" "Laughing?" he raised his head from my hair. My cap had fallen off, and it blew in wildest confusion about my face and his. "I'm very far from laughing. I'm proud and happy. But," said he, with a change of tone, "to steal my thunder! You'll be dabbling in my pill-boxes yet! I suppose I may as well reconcile myself to being known as 'the husband of Mavis Denton.' Appalling outlook!" "Is it?" I asked impishly. "Well--in that sense at least. 'Husband of The Poetess.' It wounds my masculine pride." "It shouldn't," said I, triumphantly, "if it ever happened--which, of course, it won't. But I will be quite content to be known as Richard Warren's wife--" "You dear! But, of course, you have a better disposition than I have--" "I haven't! I'm a petulant, snappish, mean--" "You're the loveliest thing God ever made!" And so on, ad infinitum.