whole day eludeth care.
Your thought." She answered, "Even so.
I would beware

"Regretful questionings; be sure
That very seldom do they rise,
Nor for myself do I endure--
I sympathize.

"For once"--she turned away her head,
Across the grass she swept her hand--
"There was a letter once," she said,
"Upon the sand."

"There was, in truth, a letter writ
On sand," I said, "and swept from view;
But that same hand which fashioned it
Is given to you.

"Efface the letter; wherefore keep
An image which the sands forego?"
"Albeit that fear had seemed to sleep,"
She answered low,

"I could not choose but wake it now;
For do but turn aside your face,
A house on yonder hilly brow
Your eyes may trace.

"The chestnut shelters it; ah me,
That I should have so faint a heart!
But yester-eve, as by the sea
I sat apart,

"I heard a name, I saw a hand
Of passing stranger point that way--
And will he meet her on the strand,
When late we stray?

"For she is come, for she is there,
I heard it in the dusk, and heard
Admiring words, that named her fair,
But little stirred

"By beauty of the wood and wave,
And weary of an old man's sway;
For it was sweeter to enslave
Than to obey."

--The voice of one that near us stood,
The rustle of a silken fold,
A scent of eastern sandal wood,
A gleam of gold!

A lady! In the narrow space
Between the husband and the wife,
But nearest him--she showed a face
With dangers rife;

A subtle smile that dimpling fled,
As night-black lashes rose and fell:
I looked, and to myself I said,
"The letter L."

He, too, looked up, and with arrest
Of breath and motion held his gaze,
Nor cared to hide within his breast
His deep amaze;

Nor spoke till on her near advance
His dark cheek flushed a ruddier hue;
And with his change of countenance
Hers altered too.

"Lenore!" his voice was like the cry
Of one entreating; and he said
But that--then paused with such a sigh
As mourns the dead.

And seated near, with no demur
Of bashful doubt she silence broke,
Though I alone could answer her
When first she spoke.

She looked: her eyes were beauty's own;
She shed their sweetness into his;
Nor spared the married wife one moan
That bitterest is.

She spoke, and lo, her loveliness
Methought she damaged with her