We sat in the room   And praised her whom We saw in the portico-shade outside:   She could not hear   What was said of her, But smiled, for its purport we did not hide.   Then in was brought   That message, fraught With evil fortune for her out there,   Whom we loved that day   More than any could say, And would fain have fenced from a waft of care.   And the question pressed   Like lead on each breast, Should we cloak the tidings, or call her and tell?   It was too intense   A choice for our sense, As we pondered and watched her we loved so well.   Yea, spirit failed us   At what a**ailed us; How long, while seeing what soon must come,   Should we counterfeit   No knowledge of it, And stay the stroke that would blanch and numb?   And thus, before   For evermore Joy left her, we practised to beguile   Her innocence when   She now and again Looked in, and smiled us another smile.