 | The Poems of Robert Bloomfield |  |
115
ROSY HANNAH.
I
A Spring, o'erhung with many a flower,The grey sand dancing in its bed,
Embank'd beneath a Hawthorn bower,
Sent forth its waters near my head:
A rosy Lass approach'd my view;
I caught her blue eye's modest beam:
The stranger nodded “how d'ye do!”
And leap'd across the infant stream.
II
The water heedless pass'd away:With me her glowing image stay'd:
I strove, from that auspicious day,
To meet and bless the lovely Maid.
116
Through downy Moss the wild Thyme grew;
Nor Moss elastic, flow'rs though sweet,
Match'd Hannah's cheek of rosy hue.
III
I met her where the dark Woods wave,And shaded verdure skirts the plain;
And when the pale Moon rising gave
New glories to her clouded train.
From her sweet cot upon the Moor
Our plighted vows to Heaven are flown:
Truth made me welcome at her door,
And rosy Hannah is my own.
| The Poems of Robert Bloomfield | |