Pickthorn Manor: 52

Amy Lowell

Eunice lay long awake in the cool night
 After her husband slept.  She gazed with joy
Into the shadows, painting them with bright
 Pictures of all her future life’s employ.
Twin gems they were, set to a single jewel,
 Each shining with the other.  Soft she turned
    And felt his breath upon her hair, and prayed
 Her happiness was earned.
Past Earls of Crowe should give their blood for fuel
To light this Frampton’s hearth-fire.  By no cruel
    Affrightings would she ever be dismayed.

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