 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
THE TWO LOVERS.
Singing down a quiet valley,
Singing to herself she went,
And, with wing aslant, the zephyr
To her cheek with kisses leant.
Singing to herself she went,
And, with wing aslant, the zephyr
To her cheek with kisses leant.
Dainty, with the golden blossoms
Of the mulberries' silver braid,
Were the windings of the valley
Where the singing maiden strayed.
Of the mulberries' silver braid,
Were the windings of the valley
Where the singing maiden strayed.
Where the river mist was climbing
Thin and white along the rocks,
On a hollow reed sat piping,
Like a shepherd to his flocks,
Thin and white along the rocks,
On a hollow reed sat piping,
Like a shepherd to his flocks,
One whose lip was scarcely darkened
With the dawn of manhood's pride,
With his earnest eyes bent downward
To the river's voiceless tide.
With the dawn of manhood's pride,
With his earnest eyes bent downward
To the river's voiceless tide.
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Answering to his pleading music
Smiled a lovelit, girlish face,
Folded by the placid waters
In their chilly, cold embrace.
Smiled a lovelit, girlish face,
Folded by the placid waters
In their chilly, cold embrace.
Like the summer sunshine parted
By the white wing of a dove,
Like the mist that sweetly trembles
Round the pensive star of love;
By the white wing of a dove,
Like the mist that sweetly trembles
Round the pensive star of love;
Were the pale and wavy ringlets
Drifting on the pearly tide,
While the music, wilder, deeper,
On the hushed air rose and died.
Drifting on the pearly tide,
While the music, wilder, deeper,
On the hushed air rose and died.
Treading down the golden blossoms
Of the mulberries' silver braid,
Struck a steed, with lordly rider,
Toward the half enchanted maid.
Of the mulberries' silver braid,
Struck a steed, with lordly rider,
Toward the half enchanted maid.
Like a rose-cloud from the sunset,
Like the love-light from a dream,
Fled the wildering shade of beauty
From the bosom of the stream.
Like the love-light from a dream,
Fled the wildering shade of beauty
From the bosom of the stream.
Haunted by the cherub shadow
He could woo not from the wave,
Day by day the boy grew sadder
And went pining to the grave.
He could woo not from the wave,
Day by day the boy grew sadder
And went pining to the grave.
Singing down the quiet valley,
Singing as the day grows dim,
Walks the maiden, but her visions
Blend not with a thought of him!
Singing as the day grows dim,
Walks the maiden, but her visions
Blend not with a thought of him!
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |