Page:Confessions of a wife (IA confessionsofwif00adamiala).pdf/75

 " dearest! It was Eden in the tree-house. And I wear thy ruby ring.

"P.S. Did you ever dream of such a moon in the wildest and dearest dream you ever had? I never did. It swam in a new heaven; and we—we were in a new earth; and every flower in the garden needed a new name. My heart was a Child (with a big C) sitting at the feet of the garden, as (you said) your love knelt down at mine. Every flower was taller than I—the haughty fleur-de-lis, and the tender white roses, and even the modest pansies, and the little, plain candytuft, that looks like daily life and pleasant duty—they all seemed to tower above me, like the flowers of a strange country of which I did not know the botany. Love, I think, is flora without a botany. You cannot name a feeling, and classify it, when you love. It would escape you, and you,

I could not speak, out in the tree-house, as you did. My lips trembled too much. And when yours touched them, they did but tremble more.