And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan; But ere I saw your eyes, my love, I had no motion of my own. For scarce my life with fancy played Before I dreamed that pleasant dream — Still hither thither idly swayed Like those long mosses in the stream. Or from the bridge I leaned to hear In crystal eddies glance and poise, And those three chestnuts near, that hung In masses thick with milky cones. But, Alice, what an hour was that, And on the slope, an absent fool, A love-song I had somewhere read, An echo from a measured strain, Beat time to nothing in the head It haunted me, the morning long, With weary sameness in the rhymes, The phantom of a silent song, That went and came a thousand times. Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood And there a vision caught my eye; For you remember, you had set, That morning, on the casement's edge A long green box of mignonette, And you were leaning from the ledge: And when I raised my eyes, above They met with two so full and bright— Such eyes ! I swear to you, my love, That these have never lost their light. I loved, and love dispelled the fear And filled the breast with purer breath. My mother thought, What ails the boy? For I was altered, and began To move about the house with joy, I loved the brimming wave that swam Through quiet meadows round the mill, The sleepy pool above the dam, The pool beneath it never still, The meal-sacks on the whitened floor, The dark round of the dripping wheel, very air about the door The Made misty with the floating meal. And oft in ramblings on the wold, your taper far away, And full at heart of trembling hope, From off the wold I came, and lay Upon the freshly-flowered slope. The deep brook groaned beneath the mill; And "by that lamp," I thought," she sits!" The white chalk-quarry from the hill Gleamed to the flying moon by fits. "O that I were beside her now! Sometimes I saw you sit and spin; Sometimes your shadow crossed the blind; At last you rose and moved the light, And the long shadow of the chair Flitted across into the night, And all the casement darkened there. But when at last I dared to speak, The lanes, you know, were white with May; Your ripe lips moved not, but your cheek Flushed like the coming of the day; And so it was-half-sly, half-shy, You would, and would not, little one! Although I pleaded tenderly, And you and I were all alone. And slowly was my mother brought I might have looked a little higher; And I was young too young to wed: "Yet must I love her for your sake; Go fetch your Alice here," she said : Her eyelid quivered as she spake. And down I went to fetch my bride : But, Alice, you were ill at ease; This dress and that by turns you tried, Too fearful that you should not please. I loved you better for your fears, I knew you could not look but well; And dews, that would have fall'n in tears, I kissed away before they fell. I watched the little flutterings, The doubt my mother would not see; She spoke at large of many things, And at the last she spoke of me; And turning looked upon your face, As near this door you sat apart, And rose, and, with a silent grace Approaching, pressed you heart to heart. |