 | A lover's diary |  |
26
MONA, FIFTEEN.
Over the hedge I leaned one day
To see my darling as she lay
On the May grass,—it was not fair,
I know, in me to see her there.
To see my darling as she lay
On the May grass,—it was not fair,
I know, in me to see her there.
Her soft locks down her graceful head
Drawn all one way, not wide dispread,
Were by her white hand gathered in
A shining coil beneath her chin.
Drawn all one way, not wide dispread,
Were by her white hand gathered in
A shining coil beneath her chin.
The dress she wore was simply wrought
To the expression of her thought:
I never saw where it begun,
Or ended,—she and it were one.
To the expression of her thought:
I never saw where it begun,
Or ended,—she and it were one.
27
The smile could only just get through
The mouth which she together drew,
That tender secret to repress
Which tells itself by silentness.
The mouth which she together drew,
That tender secret to repress
Which tells itself by silentness.
Near her two lilies, flamy light,
Bickering upon their ground of white,
O'ershadowed by her beauty, stood
Like the lost babies in the wood.
Bickering upon their ground of white,
O'ershadowed by her beauty, stood
Like the lost babies in the wood.
The ruby in her cheek did gleam
Like cherries in a pot of cream;
But wherefore separate graces trace
Where all was one excelling grace?
Like cherries in a pot of cream;
But wherefore separate graces trace
Where all was one excelling grace?
She did not raise her eyes above
The hedge, to chide my look of love,
Such fancies did about her close,
Like sunbeams feeding on a rose.
The hedge, to chide my look of love,
Such fancies did about her close,
Like sunbeams feeding on a rose.
28
My passion to sad verse I set,
(I had not got my beard as yet,)
And she my worship did not wrong,—
The hedge was not between us long.
(I had not got my beard as yet,)
And she my worship did not wrong,—
The hedge was not between us long.
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