University of Virginia Library

I recollect not how the morn began
On which we told our love. The bright hours ran
Thro' the first circles of the dance of day,
And we seem'd unconcern'd and light as they.
So long our souls had linger'd in the haze
That Hope untold o'er trivial life can raise;
So dear the magic paradise where all
In very silence was most voluble;
We cared not from that happy vale to rise,
Or read Love's answer save in loving eyes.

We stood beside the terrace, when the sun
By narrowing shadows show'd his course half run:
The vase-set roses in high blaze o'erflush'd
His sunset tints anticipating blush'd—
Of evening's clouds the ruby roses tell—
And yet—how much before that evening fell!
In idle broken talk I held the maid,
Her fair face bathed in cool half-tints of shade;
And gazed beneath th' o'erbrimming hat, and task'd
Her girlish knowledge with the lore I ask'd:
Each flower's exotic site, each barbarous name:
And pluck'd them oft, and ask'd her oft the same;
In that loved mood when words but serve to screen
An undercurrent of sweet thoughts between.
Still as she spoke she turn'd, and eyed the child
That stole between us—fair and strong and wild—
The plaything of the house: till call'd away
Young limbs in baths of noontide sleep to lay
By voices from above. Yet fix'd we stay'd:
Each thinking, now we part, yet each delay'd
By one sweet half reveal'd, half hidden thought
Alike in each heart by that dalliance wrought.
Was it to part us that the breezes play'd,
Tempering the heat by wafts of seeming shade?
The rose blush'd out in sweetness and in light;
The circling ringdoves wheel'd their amorous flight?
Was it to part us that alone we stood,
While each heard no sound but the beating blood?
—A little laugh—and—‘Oh, I near forgot:
Tell Andrew, please, to weed the violet plot.’
And ‘Sure you see he's somewhat strange of late,
I heard him hum at church the ‘Canongate.’’
She spoke the rising tumult to repress,
Words only fail'd her in the moment's stress.
Gravely she spoke: and yet we scarce refrain'd
The under-laugh that show'd our hearts constrain'd,
And awkward blushing words came stammering thro'
As if our eyes each fear'd the other's view:
Some strange repelling force still intervened,
Some film each glance from answering glances screen'd.
A deeper silence yet, a dread to stir:
I felt self pass and die away in her:
The heart was faint beneath the weight of bliss,
The burden of its own deliciousness;
Till one long curl that o'er her forehead stray'd
Across my cheek by some wild gust was laid.
With pretty smiling shyness back she moved,
As tho' mere chance might not tell how she loved.
Sweet trifler! why should else a blush adorn
The conscious cheek—that blush'd again for scorn?
—But as I gazed from out the garden door
Quick ran the fair child at our sight once more,
Flush'd, just set free from sleep's unconscious bands,
With breathless laughter grasp'd and join'd our hands,
With smiles and words that had a deeper sense
Than could be known by that young innocence.
I felt my happy fingers clasp'd in thine;
O mine henceforth for ever—mine—yet mine—
O tearful smiles that spoke the victory won!
O whisper'd words, still ended, still begun!
O soft confessions that the day outwore
Still with the deepening twilight deepening more!
O happy sleep, by woodland music stirr'd;
O happier waking with the jocund bird!
Awake, Aurora, bring the sun mid-way!
Blush, ruby rose, prophetic of the day!