RECONCILIATION

Listen, dearest! you must love me more, More than you did before!— Hark, what a beating here of wings! Never at rest,

Dear, in your breast!— Is it your heart with its flutterings, Making a music, love, for us both? Or merely a moth, a velvet-winged moth,

Which out of the garden's fragrance swings, Weaving a spell, That holds the rose and the moon in thrall?— I love you more than I can tell;

And no recall How long ago Our quarrel and all!— You say, you know,

A perfect pearl grows out of — well, A little friction; tiny grain Of sand or shell — So love grew out of that moment's pain,

The heart's disdain — Since then I have thought of no one but you, And how your heart would beat on mine, Like light on dew.

And I thought how foolish to fret and pine! Better to claim the fault all mine! To go to you and tell you that: And how stale and flat

All life without you was, and vain! And when I came, you turned and smiled, Like a darling child, And I knew from your look that, in your heart,

You had followed the self-same train Of thought that made me yours again.— Dearest! no more!— We shall never part!—

So. Turn your face as you did before.— I smooth your brow And kiss you.— Now.... Tell me true —

Did you miss me, dear, as I missed you?