seas,
  While waiting for this hour.  Oh, think you not
  Immortal love mates with immortal love
  Always?  And now, at last, we know this love.” 
  My soul was filling with a mighty joy
  I could not show—­yet must I show my love. 
  “From you whose will divided broke our hearts
  I now demand a different kiss than that
  Which then you said should be our parting kiss. 
  Given, I vow the past shall be forgot. 
  The kiss—­and we are one!  Give me the kiss.” 
  Like the dark rocks upon the sands he stood,
  When on his breast I fell, and kissed his lips. 
  All the wild clangor of the sea was hushed;
  The rapid silver waves ran each to each,
  Lapsed in the deep with joyous, murmured sighs. 
  Years of repentance mine, forgiveness his,
  To tell.  Happy, we paced the tranquil shores,
  Till between sea and sky we saw the sun,
  And all our wiser, loving days began.

THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW’S IDYL.

  From where I built the nest for my first young,
  In the high chimney of this ancient house,
  I saw the household fires burn and go down,
  And know what was and is forever gone. 
  My dusky, swift-winged fledgelings, flying far
  To seek their mates in clustered eaves or towers,
  Would linger not to learn what I have learned,
  Soaring through air or steering over sea—­
  These single, solitary walls must fade. 
  But I return, inhabiting my nest,
  A little simple bird, which still survives
  The noble souls now vanished from this hearth;
  And none are here besides but she who shares
  My life, and pensive vigil holds with me. 
  No longer does she mourn; she lives serene;
  I see her mother’s beauty in her face,
  I see her father’s quiet pride and power,
  The linked traits and traces of her race;
  Her brothers dying, like strong sapling trees
  Hewn down by violent blows prone in dense woods,
  Covered with aged boughs, decaying slow. 
  She muses thus:  “Beauty once more abides;
  The rude alarm of death, its wild amaze
  Is over now.  The chance of change has passed;
  No doubtful hopes are mine, no restless dread,
  No last word to be spoken, kiss to give
  And take in passion’s agony and end. 
  They cannot come to me, but in good time
  I shall rejoin my silent company,
  And melt among them, as the sunset clouds
  Melt in gray spaces of the coming night.” 
  So she holds dear as I this tranquil spot,
  And all the flowers that blow, and maze of green,
  The meadows daisy-full, or brown and sere;
  The shore which bounds the waves I love to skim,
  And dash my purple wings against the breeze. 
  When breaks the day I twitter loud and long,
  To make her rise and watch the vigorous sun
  Come from his sea-bed in the weltering deep,
  And smell the dewy grass, still rank with sleep.