Three Sonnets on Sorrow, 2

We met again, as I foresaw we should;
Youth flooded all my veins, and she had grown
To woman's height, yet seemed a rose half-blown.
Like sunset clouds that o'er a landscape brood
Her eyes were, that they might not be withstood;
And like the wind's voice when it takes the tone
Of pine-trees was her voice. I cried, " My own! " -
And kneeling there I worshipped her and wooed.

O bitter marriage, though inevitable, —
Ordained by Fate, who wrecks or saves our days!
Lo, the changed bride, no longer fair of face,
And in her eyes the very fires of hell!
"Thy name? " I cried; and these words hissing fell:
"Anguish and madness come of my embrace."