Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/77

Rh

I loved him, too, as woman loves— Reckless of sorrow, sin, or scorn: Life had no evil destiny That, with him, I could not have borne! I had been nurst in palaces; Yet earth had not a spot so drear, That I should not have thought a home In paradise, had he been near! How sweet it would have been to dwell, Apart from all, in some green dell Of sunny beauty, leaves and flowers; And nestling birds to sing the hours! Our home beneath some chesnut's shade, But of the woven branches made: Our vesper hymn, the low, lone wail The rose hears from the nightingale;