Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/49

 No thing like this was ever out of England; And that he knows. I wonder if he cares. Perhaps he does. . . . O Lord, that House in Stratford!

fears him, and will always ask What fated her to choose him; She meets in his engaging mask All reasons to refuse him; But what she meets and what she fears Are less than are the downward years, Drawn slowly to the foamless weirs Of age, were she to lose him. Between a blurred sagacity That once had power to sound him, And Love, that will not let him be The Judas that she found him, Her pride assuages her almost, As if it were alone the cost.— He sees that he will not be lost, And waits and looks around him. A sense of ocean and old trees Envelops and allures him; Tradition, touching all he sees, Beguiles and reassures him; And all her doubts of what he says Are dimmed with what she knows of days Till even prejudice delays And fades, and she secures him. The falling leaf inaugurates The reign of her confusion;