THE shadows stretch their lank arms on the wall, And throng the room, while, hardly struggling through
The frowning gloom, on floor and wainscot fall
The wearied ember-flickers. Still we two
Sit hushed, nor dare our idle speech renew;
But as I watch thy firelit face the while,
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And whisper "Sweetheart," giving love its due,
Ah, why, dear innocent and free from guile,
Dost thou so sadly and so faintly smile?
W. T.
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