And yet I paused, I hardly knew the why, I said she, as the others, is fair game; No guardian stood above her but the sky, And yet I paused, the beast within me tame. Her pure eyes fronted mine so unafraid, And in their depths dwelt such a wondrous charm, It seemed to wrap a glory round the maid, That banished evil and the power to harm. And somehow there the evil in me died, As in a dream afraid I seemed to stand, I am unworthy, all my being cried, And yet she smiled, nor could I understand. Days passed, once more beneath the sky, As one enchanted, I beside her walked, Drinking the freshness of her spirit high, In a new world that blossomed as she talked. "How beautiful the bird's song is!" she said, And, lo, the singing came surpassing sweet, "See how the flowers bloom all rosy red!" I looked, and saw them springing at our feet. The breezes soft their peaceful preludes played Along the glistening harp-strings of the grass, I bowed my head as penitent that prayed, The miracle of love had come to pass. THE SQUAW-MAN Love from his homeland hillsides led him forth, A willing captive, to a foreign land, Nor looked he either east or west or north, But followed where she led him by the hand. How strong he was in all that men hold good, How fair to view in manly grace and form! Yet as a child, against her maidenhood, The castle of his heart she took by storm. O lady, golden-haired and blue of eye, Fair English beauty with the cheeks of rose, Dost thou afar in moonlit gardens sigh, And dream of him as evening shadows close? Dost thou oft weep with troubled heart and brain, Between each letter's ever-length'ning wait? Ah, weep no more; he will not come again-- No more will he unlatch thy garden gate. For eyes of night have pierced him to the core, A forest maiden sings his child to rest. He has forgotten, and will come no more-- Another head he pillows on his breast. E'en now, perhaps, to some sweet forest song, With rhythmic stroke he paddles her along O'er some smooth lake that mirrors cloudless skies, Deep as the love that dwells in her dark eyes. Perchance ere now, in some green forest glade, A home for her he's built, a cabin made, Where sunshine greets them with its morning kiss, And wakes them to a new day's perfect bliss. 'Tis o'er, thy dream; his ways and thine divide, The sterile plains of memory grow more wide; Love claims its own, and thou must pay the cost-- A dark-orbed maid has won what thou hast lost. O Love, that blossoms on the desert sands As sweet as in the richly gilded room, That knows no age and blesses in all lands, And strews upon the world its lovely bloom,