 | The lost pleiad ; and other poems |  |
THE CONFESSIONAL.
“I am come into my garden—my sister, my spouse.”—
Cant., chap. v.
She met me in the jassamine bower
One summer afternoon;
And, as she plucked each tender flower,
She said to me, that blessed hour,
This is the month of June.
One summer afternoon;
And, as she plucked each tender flower,
She said to me, that blessed hour,
This is the month of June.
She won from me, with her sweet smiles,
The deep love of my heart;
A white Swan from the Blessed Isles
Was not more free from earthly wiles
Than she was from all art.
The deep love of my heart;
A white Swan from the Blessed Isles
Was not more free from earthly wiles
Than she was from all art.
Then on my breast she leant her head,—
Her heart beat close to mine—
And, hiding her sweet face, she said,
As in my hand her own she laid—
Why cannot I be thine?
Her heart beat close to mine—
And, hiding her sweet face, she said,
As in my hand her own she laid—
Why cannot I be thine?
My answering not did speak to her,
For I was dumb with love;
For what she said did minister
Delight unto my listening ear,
Like music from above.
For I was dumb with love;
For what she said did minister
Delight unto my listening ear,
Like music from above.
I raised her from my panting breast,
And kist her lips with mine;
The blushes on my cheek confest
More than my faltering tongue exprest
In saying—I am thine!
And kist her lips with mine;
The blushes on my cheek confest
More than my faltering tongue exprest
In saying—I am thine!
Oaky Grove, Ga., Dec. 4th, 1844.
| The lost pleiad ; and other poems | |