I.
Room after room,
I hunt the house
We inhabit together.
Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her—-Next time, herself!—-not the trouble behind
Left in the curtain, the couch's perfume!
As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew:
Yon looking-glass gleaned at the wave of her feather.
II.
Yet the day wears,
And door succeeds door;
I try the fresh fortune—-Range the wide house from the wing to the centre.
Still the same chance!
She goes out as I enter.
Spend my whole day in the quest,—-who cares?
But 'tis twilight, you see,—-with such suites to explore,
Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune!
