Or have they any sense of why they sing ? And would they praise the heavens for what they have?" And I made answer, " Were there nothing else For which to praise the heavens but only love, Lightly he laugh'd, as one that read my thought, The garden stretches southward. In the midst The twinkling laurel scatter'd silver lights. 66 Eustace," I said, "this wonder keeps the house." He nodded, but a moment afterwards He cried, "Look! look!" Before he ceased I turn'd, And, ere a star can wink, beheld her there. For up the porch there grew an Eastern rose, That, flowering high, the last night's gale had caught, And blown across the walk. One arm aloft Gown'd in pure white, that fitted to the shape- A single stream of all her soft brown hair Pour'd on one side the shadow of the flowers : Stole all the golden gloss, and, wavering Lovingly lower, trembled on her waist Ah, happy shade-and still went wavering down, And mix'd with shadows of the common ground! So rapt, we near'd the house; but she, a Rose Nor heard us come, nor from her tendance turn'd Into the world without; till close at hand, And almost ere I knew mine own intent, Which brooded round about her : “Ah, one rose, One rose, but one, by those fair fingers cull'd, Less exquisite than thine." She look'd but all Suffused with blushes-neither self-possess'd Nor startled, but betwixt this mood and that, And dropt the branch she held, and turning, wound Her looser hair in braid, and stirr'd her lips For some sweet answer, though no answer came, Nor yet refused the rose, but granted it, And moved away, and left me, statue-like, I, that whole day, Saw her no more, although I linger'd there So home we went, and all the livelong way With solemn gibe did Eustace banter me. 66 Now," said he, " will you climb the top of Art. You cannot fail but work in hues to dim The Titianic Flora. Will you match My Juliet you, not you,—the Master, Love, So home I went, but could not sleep for joy, To greet their fairer sisters of the East. Love at first sight, first-born, and heir to all, Made this night thus. Henceforward squall nor storm Could keep me from that Eden where she dwelt. Light pretexts drew me: sometimes a Dutch love For tulips; then for roses, moss or musk, To grace my city-rooms; or fruits and cream Served in the weeping elm; and more and more A word could bring the colour to my cheek; A thought would fill my eyes with happy dew; Love trebled life within me, and with each The year increased. The daughters of the year, One after one, thro' that still garden pass'd : |