II. There is an earnest longing In those who onward gaze, Looking with weary patience More sad, more strong, more keen : Those know it who look backward, And yearn for what has been. Touches each well-known chair; Gazes from every window, Lingers on every stair. What have these months brought Alice Now one more year is past? This Christmas Eve shall tell us, The third one and the last. IV. The wilful, wayward Dora, In those first weeks of grief, Could seek and find in Alice Strength, soothing, and relief. And Alice-last sad comfort True woman-heart can take— Had something still to suffer And bear for Herbert's sake. V. Spring, with her western breezes, To Alice news that Leonard Would seek his home once more. What was it-joy, or sorrow? What were they hopes, or fears? That flushed her cheeks with crimson, And filled her eyes with tears? He came. VI. And who so kindly Could ask and hear her tell Herbert's last hours; for Leonard Had known and loved him well. Daily he came; and Alice, Poor weary heart, at length, Weighed down by others' weakness, VII. Yet not the voice of Leonard Could her true care beguile, So, from that little household VIII. Days passed. The golden summer In sudden heat bore down Its blue, bright, glowing sweetness Upon the scorching town. And sights and sounds of country Came in the warm soft tune Sung by the honeyed breezes Borne on the wings of June. IX. One twilight hour, but earlier She knew the fresh sweet fragrance Of flowers that Leonard brought; Through opened doors and windows It stole up through the gloom, And with appealing sweetness Drew Alice from her room. X. Yes, he was there; and pausing To check her heart's quick beating, His pleading-Yes, she knew The tone-the words-the accents: She once had heard them too. XI. "Would Alice blame her?" Leonard's Low, tender answer came:— "Alice was far too noble To think or dream of blame." "And was he sure he loved her?" "Yes, with the one love given Once in a lifetime only, With one soul and one heaven!" XII. Then came a plaintive murmur, "Dora had once been told That he and Alice". Alice is far too cold To love; and I, my Dora, It was a brief delusion, And over,-long ago." "Dearest, XIII. Between the Past and Present, On that bleak moment's height, With dizzy, sick despair, Reels backward, but to find it A deeper chasm there. XIV. The twilight grew still darker, The fragrant flowers more sweet, The stars shone out in heaven, The lamps gleamed down the street; |