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AURORA LEIGH.
It was the hour for angels—there, stood hers!She scarcely marvelled to see Romney Leigh.As light November snows to empty nests,As grass to graves, as moss to mildewed stones,As July suns to ruins, through the rents,As ministering spirits to mourners, through a loss,As Heaven itself to men, through pangs of death,He came uncalled wherever grief had come.‘And so,’ said Marian Erle, ‘we meet anew,’And added softly, ‘so, we shall not part.’
He was not angry that she had left the houseWherein he placed her. Well—she had feared it mightHave vexed him. Also, when he found her setOn keeping, though the dead was out of sight,That half-dead, half-live body left behindWith cankerous heart and flesh,—which took your bestAnd cursed you for the little good it did,(Could any leave the bedrid wretch alone,So joyless, she was thankless even to God,Much less to you?) he did not say ’twas wellYet Marian thought he did not take it ill,—Since day by day he came, and, every day,She felt within his utterance and his eyesA closer, tenderer presence of the soul,Until at last he said, ‘We shall not part.’
On that same day, was Marian's work complete:She had smoothed the empty bed, and swept the floorOf coffin sawdust, set the chairs anew
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