Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/172

 No voiceless sorrow grieved her mind,
 * No memory her bosom stirred,

Nor dreamed she, as she read to two,
 * 'Twas surely three who heard.

Yet when, the story done, she smiled
 * From face to face, serene and clear,

A love, half dread, sprang up, as she
 * Leaned close and drew them near.