Where their dolesome exclamations Seemed the voicings of the self-same throats I had heard when life was green, Though since that day uncounted frail forgotten generations Of their kind had flecked the scene.—
And so, living long and longer In a past that lived no more, my eyes discerned there, suddenly, That a figure broke the skyline—first in vague contour, then stronger, And was crossing near to me.
Some long-missed familiar gesture, Something wonted, struck me in the figure’s pause to list and heed, Till I fancied from its handling of its loosely wrapping vesture That it might be She indeed.
’Twas not reasonless: below there In the vale, had been her home; the nook might hold her even yet, And the downlands were her father’s fief; she still might come and go there;— So I rose, and said, “Agnette!”
With a little leap, half-frightened, She withdrew some steps; then letting intuition smother fear In a place so long-accustomed, and as one whom thought enlightened, She replied: “What—_that_ voice?—here!”
“Yes, Agnette!—And did the occasion Of our marching hither make you think I _might_ walk where we two—” “O, I often come,” she murmured with a moment’s coy evasion, “(’Tis not far),—and—think of you.”
Then I took her hand, and led her To the ancient people’s stone whereon I had sat. There now sat we; And together talked, until the first reluctant shyness fled her, And she spoke confidingly.
“It is _just_ as ere we parted!” Said she, brimming high with joy.—“And when, then, came you here, and why?” “—Dear, I could not sleep for thinking of our trystings when twin-hearted.” She responded, “Nor could I.
“There are few things I would rather Than be wandering at this spirit-hour—lone-lived, my kindred dead— On this wold of well-known feature I inherit from my father: Night or day, I have no dread . . .
“O I wonder, wonder whether Any heartstring bore a signal-thrill between us twain or no?— Some such influence can, at times, they say, draw severed souls together.” I said, “Dear, we’ll dream it so.”
Each one’s hand the other’s grasping, And a mutual forgiveness won, we sank to silent thought, A large content in us that seemed our rended lives reclasping, And contracting years to nought.