THE WIFE 

 I am happy in his love And thank God for it, nay, propitiate With vows and offering; I fear a wrath Called down on too great happiness; I fear— I know not what—Oh, I possess a gift So rare and precious, that, like men who go Laden with rubies, I am grown suspect Of all the earth and heaven, feel the stars Peer covetously on me. Every hour That he is from my side a cloud of woe Settles upon me like a swarm of bees. Ah, is it possible that we can sin In happiness, against a jealous God? 

 

 THE MOTHER 

 Nay, nay, these foolish thoughts! your wits are strayed With too much brooding: let me bind afresh The knot of scarlet lilies in your hair; They fade already, for the sun is high Towards the noon: Ah, child, what waits for you But love, and yet more love, and happiness, And children of delight, and in old age Respect of all the peoples, and at last Death in his arms and burial in peace? Still do you tremble, what is it you fear? 

 

 THE WIFE 

 Can you not feel a something in the air, A warning, or a presence, or the weight Of some unguessed-at horror, that, like dust Impalpable and deadly, clings and kills? There is some terror—'tis my heart that speaks And warns me—ah! would God indeed, your son, (My love and husband) had another father Than that celestial being. This it is That puts eternal sadness on his brow, And shade within his eyes I cannot lift, Even with kisses; 'tis the angel nature That makes him sit spell-woven in a trance, Chin in his hand, and eyes on vacancy, And lips all bare of love, the while his soul Struggles against the bonds of finity. 

 

 THE MOTHER 

 Ah, how you love him! 

 

 THE WIFE 

 More because of it, This kingdom infinite I cannot know Though loving him. 

 

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