Or was it but the wind?—a melody Awakening strange hopes and strong desires And that old dream of beauty, triumphing Within my soul, of how the world might come, In time, to be a garden, such as was Eden upon the hills, which first the dawn Silvers, and broiders with her rosy veils: Eden, where you and I were left, alone! Ah, love, perchance our love might recreate Again that garden walled from our desire!’ “When he had ended, his strong hand was laid On my slim hand, his fingers twined with mine, His eyes fed on mine eyes; and thus we stood Silent before his friends. As first one bough Whispers unto his fellow, in the wind, Who, soft, repeats to those who neighbour him Until the wood is filled with whisperings, So they unto each other whispered there. But Merow led me silent from the hall Into the night, the company of stars Innumerable, and of fragrant winds Sweet with our secrets, murmuring delight.... How softly come these visions of the past! Softly as shadows, or as glimmering sails Upon the moonlit sea, or like shy fish Through green translucent waters, to depart In sudden swirls, while silver bubbles rise. “Next morning Praetextatus said a mass, And laid my hand in Merow’s, his in mine, Making us one.” She paused in sudden pain, Bending her eyes down to the rotten straw, While the priest watched her silent agony. Then once again raised up her head and spake: “What canst thou know of love, O loveless priest? How comfort me for all which I have lost? Nay then, bend not nor blush; my bitterness Has made my tongue a whip, I see, to score The poor weak body which is consecrate, Yet sometimes turns from heaven, desiring earth.” She ended, and the priest spake unto her, Turning on her his melancholy eyes: “Brunhild, I blame thee not for bitterness, Nor that thy words have vexed my quiet soul With passions that I thought asleep at last. Suffering is a part of my desire; It is a part of knowledge, and a part Of that great human heart which calls on God Because it is so comfortless on earth. Rather I thank thee for awakening Something within my soul that thrills with love For that sweet human love which promises The fluttering caress of children’s hands, Their flute-like voices waking with the dawn, The gaiety and laughter of their day. But all these fleeting voices of our life, The loves and sensual desires of earth, Our joy in childhood, are but memories Of innocence in sheltered Paradise, Where in one music, flowering like flames, They mix together, swelling symphonies Celestial beyond our mortal ears. So to me once there came a dream more fair Of love unhindered by mortality That veils us from each other, but which flowed, Two souls in unison, as when two flames