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[276] And if the husband or the wife
     In home's strong light discovers
Such slight defaults as failed to meet
     The blinded eyes of lovers,

Why need we care to ask?—who dreams
     Without their thorns of roses,
Or wonders that the truest steel
     The readiest spark discloses?

For still in mutual sufferance lies
     The secret of true living;
Love scarce is love that never knows
     The sweetness of forgiving.

We send the Squire to General Court,
     He takes his young wife thither;
No prouder man election day
     Rides through the sweet June weather.

He sees with eyes of manly trust
     All hearts to her inclining;
Not less for him his household light
     That others share its shining. “

Thus, while my hostess spake, there grew
     Before me, warmer tinted
And outlined with a tenderer grace,
     The picture that she hinted.

The sunset smouldered as we drove
     Beneath the deep hill-shadows.
Below us wreaths of white fog walked
     Like ghosts the haunted meadows.

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