Page:Maurine and Other Poems (1910).pdf/64

 Her days were poems, beautiful, complete. The rhythm perfect, and the burden sweet. She was so happy—happy, and so blest.

My heart had found contentment in that year. With health restored, my life seemed full of cheer The heart of youth turns ever to the light; Sorrow and gloom may curtain it like night, But, in its very anguish and unrest, It beats and tears the pall-like folds away, And finds again the sunlight of the day.

And yet, despite the changes without measure, Despite sight-seeing, round on round of pleasure; Despite new friends, new suitors, still my heart Was conscious of a something lacking, where Love once had dwelt, and afterward despair. Now love was buried; and despair had flown Before the healthful zephyrs that had blown From heights serene and lofty; and the place Where both had dwelt was empty, voiceless space. And so I took my long-loved study, art, The dreary vacuum in my life to fill, And worked, and laboured, with a right good will. Aunt Ruth and I took rooms in Rome; while Roy Lingered in Scotland, with his new-found joy. A dainty little lassie, Grace Kildare, Had snared him in her flossy, flaxen hair, And made him captive.

We were thrown, by chance, In contact with her people while in France The previous season: she was wholly sweet And fair and gentle; so naïve, and yet So womanly, she was at once the pet Of all our party; and, ere many days, Won by her fresh face, and her artless ways, Roy fell a helpless captive at her feet. Her home was in the Highlands; and she came Of good old stock, of fair untarnished fame.

Through all these months Roy had been true as steel; And by his every action made me feel He was my friend and brother, and no more, The same big-souled and trusty friend of yore. Yet, in my secret heart, I wished I knew