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Poem	Oh! this happiness, sometimes so rare and frail that it frightens us! In vain we hush our voices, and make of all your hair a tent to shelter us; often the anguish in our hearts flows over. But our love, being like a kneeling angel, begs and supplicates that the future give to others than ourselves a like affection and life, so that their fate may not be envious of ours. And, too, on evil days, when the great evenings extend to heaven the bounds of despair, we ask forgiveness of the night that kindles with the gentleness of our heart.
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