Chapter XXXIII

Text size

My Mary! though I yet am young in years,
'Tis like a dream, Love, of the olden time,
When first they coyness yielded up its fears,
And thy warm heart throbb'd tremblingly to mine,--
When we exchanged the faith we loved to make,
And made the promise it should never break--
How happy, then, the future rose to view--
Our hearts the auguries that made it seem all true.