You gave your hand to me, as through
The low scrub-growth that spanned
The Danes’ old tower, we caught anew
The sharp salt-burdened breeze that blew
Across the reach of sand.

Too proud! the grace you scorned to do,
Where scarce your foot could stand;—
’Twas but from sheer fatigue, I knew,
You gave your hand!

How well that scene comes back to view!
Your cheeks’ faint roses fanned,—
The gorge,—the twinkling seaward blue,
The black boats on the strand;
I gave you all my heart, and you—
You gave your hand.