 | The coming of love |  |
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V
EVENING ON THE RIVER
PERCY AND RHONA.More mellow falls the light and still more mellow
Around the boat, as we two glide along
'Tween grassy banks she loves where, tall and strong,
The buttercups stand gleaming, smiling, yellow.
She knows the nightingales of “Portobello;”
Love makes her know each bird! In all that throng
No voice seems like another: soul is song,
And never nightingale was like its fellow;
For, whether born in breast of Love's own bird,
Singing its passion in those islet-bowers
Whose sunset-coloured maze of leaves and flowers
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Or born in human souls—twin souls like ours—
Song leaps from deeps unplumbed by spoken word.
| The coming of love | |