  IN and out the osier beds, all along the shallows, Lifts and laughs the soft south wind, or swoons among the grasses. But, ah! whose following feet are these that bend the tall marsh-mallows? Who laughs so low and sweet? Who sighs—and passes? Flower of my heart, my darling, why so slowly Lift’st thou thine eyes to mine, sweet wells of gladness? Too deep this new-found joy, and this new pain too holy; Or is there dread in thine heart of this divinest madness? Who sighs with longing there? who laughs alow—and passes? Whose following feet are these that bend the tall marsh-mallows? In and out the osier beds, and hither through the shallows? Flower of my heart, my Dream, who whispers near so gladly? Whose is the golden sunshine-net o’erspread for capture? Lift, lift thine eyes to mine, who love so wildly, madly— Those eyes of brave desire, deep wells o’er-brimmed with rapture. |
|
