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VII

I question'd with the amber daffodils,
Sheeting the floors of April, how she fared;
Where king-cup buds glowed out between the rills
And celandine in wide gold beadlets glared.
By pastured brows and swelling hedge-row bowers
From crumpled leaves the primrose bunches slip,
My hot face roll'd in their faint-scented flowers,
I dreamt her rich cheek rested on my lip.
All weird sensations of the fervent prime
Were like great harmonies, whose touch could move
The glow of gracious impulse: thought and time
Renewing love with life and life with love.
When this old world new-born puts glories on,
I cannot think thou never wilt be won.