I did not wrong myself so, but I placed a wrong on thee. When called before, I told how hastily I dropped my flowers or break off from a game. Shall I never miss home talk and blessing and the common kiss that comes to each in turn, nor count it strange when I look up to drop on a new range of walls and floors another home than this. Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love. Open thy heart wide and fold within the wet wings of thy dove. Could it mean to last a love set pendulous between sorrow and sorrow. Nay, I rather thrilled distrusting every light that seemed to gild the onward path in fear to overlean a finger even. And though I have grown serene and strong since then, I think that God has willed a still renewable fear. O love, O troth, and love be false if he to keep one oath must lose one joy by his life's star foretold. Slow to world greetings, quick with its O list when the angels speak. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here plainer to my sight than that first kiss. That was the chrism of love which love's own crown with sanctifying sweetness did precede the third upon my lips was folded down in perfect purple state. Since when indeed I have been proud and said my love my own. Dearest, teach me so to pour out gratitude as thou dost good.