DOUBLE PICTURES
I
This silent river flows in channel deep:
Along its margin giant elm-trees sleep,
Immersed in dreams.
It breathes the placid and thyme-scented air:
Past sedges bright and rushes debonair
Its blue wave gleams.
II
A foam-belled mountain streamlet leaps along
Its rocky banks with swift defiant song,
Past boulders springs.
Its rippling waters, crystal-pure gold-brown,
Come bubbling, boiling, eddying, splashing, down:
The moor-side rings.
I
This Southern girl's heart changes like the stream:
Yet how divine, how perfect, is the dream
That rests and sleeps
Within her marvellous eyes. Half cruel, she
Is passion's queen and slave,—yet quite love-free,
For all she weeps.
II
An English girl, deep-hearted, silent, strong,
Is like the river-wave that flows along,
Calm, hastening never.
Her love once given, is given. Is passion slow
To dawn? Yet, when she loves, for weal or woe
She loves for ever.
