Poetry Archives

He whispered her that if she had forgiven
 His startling her that afternoon, the clock
Marked early bed-time.  Surely it was Heaven
 He entered when she opened to his knock.
The hours rustled in the trailing wind
 Over the chimney.  Close they lay and knew
    Only that they were wedded.  At his touch
 Anxiety she threw
Away like a shed garment, and inclined
Herself to cherish him, her happy mind
    Quivering, unthinking, loving overmuch.