Last scene of all that ends
This strange eventful History—
Is First Love and mere enchantment—
Sans mother, sans father, sans brother—sans everything.

The year was at its very Spring,
A dawning glory filled the air;
So marvelous, it seemed to bring
A sense of something strange and fair.
Slowly along the blossomed lane,
Strolled, wondering, a girl and boy,
Happy,—yet powerless to explain
Whence came this new and mystic joy.
The pinky blooms upon the trees
Swam in a fragrant, rosy blur;
And suddenly he knew that these
Had not the loveliness of her.
The knowledge made his heart stand still;
Exquisite fancies filled his mind;
He felt a power to voice at will
Speech of the most exalted kind.
Poetic lines sang in his ears,
Strophes ran riot in his head;
And, almost with a thrill of tears,
"It—it's a lovely day!" he said.
Unconsciously her hand met his;
His simple nearness seemed to bless;
She only murmured, "Yes, it is!"
But all the world breathed tenderness.

Again the raptured silence fell;
There was no need of spoken word;
For each was conscious of the spell,
And each the silent music heard.
From heart to heart the glad thoughts flew,
Such sympathy the clasped hands gave,
Her shyness made him timid, too,—
His daring made her also brave.
Joy's cup seemed suddenly to brim,
With magic nectar, sweet and rare.
He was so glad she walked by him;
She was so glad that he was there.
With silent lips and hearts aglow,
They entered on life's Primrose way.
Then, moved to speech, he cried out, "Oh!
I think it's beautiful to-day!"
She looked, unheeding, at the skies,
She gazed, unseeing, at the blue;
Then glancing straight into his eyes,
She softly said, "Oh, I do, too!"
A glory fell on each young brow,
As, through an ever-widening rift
Between the days of Then and Now,
Shone promise of Life's fairest gift.