And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan ; But ere I saw your eyes, my love, I had no motion of my own. For scarce my life with fancy play'd Before I dream'd that pleasant dream— Still hither thither idly sway'd Like those long mosses in the stream. Or from the bridge I lean'd to hear In crystal eddies glance and poise, But, Alice, what an hour was that, A love-song I had somewhere read, An echo from a measured strain, Beat time to nothing in my head From some odd corner of the brain. It haunted me, the morning long, With weary sameness in the rhymes, The phantom of a silent song, That went and came a thousand times. Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood And there a vision caught my eye; A glowing arm, a gleaming neck, As when a sunbeam wavers warm Within the dark and dimpled beck. For you remember, you had set, That morning, on the casement-edge A long green box of mignonette, And you were leaning from the ledge : And when I raised my eyes, above They met with two so full and brightSuch eyes! I swear to you, my love, That these have never lost their light. I loved, and love dispell'd the fear And fill'd the breast with purer breath. My mother thought, What ails the boy? For I was alter'd, and began To move about the house with joy, I loved the brimming wave that swam The pool beneath it never still, The meal-sacks on the whiten'd floor, The dark round of the dripping wheel, The very air about the door Made misty with the floating meal. And oft in ramblings on the wold, And full at heart of trembling hope, From off the wold I came, and lay Upon the freshly-flower'd slope. The deep brook groan'd beneath the mill; Gleam'd to the flying moon by fits. "O that I were beside her now! Sometimes I saw you sit and spin; Sometimes your shadow cross'd the blind. At last you rose and moved the light, And all the casement darken'd there. But when at last I dared to speak, The lanes, you know, were white with may, Your ripe lips moved not, but your cheek Flush'd like the coming of the day; And so it was-half-sly, half-shy, You would, and would not, little one! Although I pleaded tenderly, And you and I were all alone. And slowly was my mother brought And down I went to fetch my bride : I knew you could not look but well; And dews, that would have fall'n in tears, I kiss'd away before they fell. I watch'd the little flutterings, The doubt my mother would not see; She spoke at large of many things, And at the last she spoke of me; And turning look'd upon your face, As near this door you sat apart, And rose, and, with a silent grace Approaching, press'd you heart to heart. |