“’Nor any diver reach to raise
  My jewel from the blue abyss;
Or could they, still I should but praise
        Their work amiss.

“’Thrown, thrown away!  But I love yet
  The fair, fair hand which did the deed: 
That wayward sweetness to forget
        Were bitter meed.

“’No, let it lie, and let the wave
  Roll over it for evermore;
Whelmed where the sailor hath his grave—­
        The sea her store.

“’My heart, my sometime happy heart! 
  And O for once let me complain,
I must forego life’s better part—­
        Man’s dearer gain.

“’I worked afar that I might rear
  A peaceful home on English soil;
I labored for the gold and gear—­
        I loved my toil.

“’Forever in my spirit spake
  The natural whisper, “Well ’twill be
When loving wife and children break
        Their bread with thee!”

“’The gathered gold is turned to dross,
  The wife hath faded into air,
My heart is thrown away, my loss
        I cannot spare.

“’Not spare unsated thought her food—­
  No, not one rustle of the fold,
Nor scent of eastern sandal-wood,
        Nor gleam of gold;

“’Nor quaint devices of the shawl,
  Far less the drooping lashes meek;
The gracious figure, lithe and tall,
        The dimpled cheek;

“’And all the wonders of her eyes,
  And sweet caprices of her air,
Albeit, indignant reason cries,
        Fool! have a care.

“’Fool! join not madness to mistake;
  Thou knowest she loved thee not a whit;
Only that she thy heart might break—­
        She wanted it,

“’Only the conquered thing to chain
  So fast that none might set it free,
Nor other woman there might reign
        And comfort thee.

“’Robbed, robbed of life’s illusions sweet;
  Love dead outside her closed door,
And passion fainting at her feet
        To wake no more;

“’What canst thou give that unknown bride
  Whom thou didst work for in the waste,
Ere fated love was born, and cried—­
        Was dead, ungraced?

“’No more but this, the partial care,
  The natural kindness for its own,
The trust that waxeth unaware,
        As worth is known: 

“’Observance, and complacent thought
  Indulgent, and the honor due
That many another man has brought
        Who brought love too.

“‘Nay, then, forbid it Heaven!’ he said,
  ’The saintly vision fades from me;
O bands and chains!  I cannot wed—­
        I am not free.’”

With that he raised his face to view;
  “What think you,” asking, “of my tale? 
And was he right to let the dew
        Of morn exhale,

“And burdened in the noontide sun,
  The grateful shade of home forego—­
Could he be right—­I ask as one
        Who fain would know?”