I had been ’ware without a rustic treat,
  Waggons bedecked with greenery stood anigh,
A swarm of children in the cheerful street
  With girls to marshal them; but all went by
And none I noted save this only sweet: 
  Too young her charge more venturous sport to try,
With whirling baubles still they play content,
And softly rose their lisping babblement.

’O what a pause! to be so near, to mark
  The locket rise and sink upon her breast;
The shadow of the lashes lieth dark
  Upon her cheek.  O fleeting time, O rest! 
A slant ray finds the gold, and with a spark
  And flash it answers, now shall be the best. 
Her eyes she raises, sets their light on mine,
They do not flash nor sparkle—­no—­but shine.’

As I for very hopelessness made bold
  Did off my hat ere time there was for thought,
She with a gracious sweetness, calm, not cold,
  Acknowledged me, but brought my chance to nought
’This vale of imperfection doth not hold
  A lovelier bud among its loveliest wrought! 
She turns,’ methought ’O do not quite forget
To me remains for ever—­that we met.’

And straightway I went forth, I could no less,
  Another light unwot of fall’n on me,
And rare elation and high happiness
  Some mighty power set hands of mastery
Among my heartstrings, and they did confess
  With wild throbs inly sweet, that minstrelsy
A nightingale might dream so rich a strain,
And pine to change her song for sleep again.

The harp thrilled ever:  O with what a round
  And series of rich pangs fled forth each note
Oracular, that I had found, had found
  (Head waters of old Nile held less remote)
Golden Dorado, dearest, most renowned;
  But when as ’t were a sigh did overfloat,
Shaping ’how long, not long shall this endure,
Au jour le jour’ methought, ’Aujour le jour’.

The minutes of that hour my heart knew well
  Were like the fabled pint of golden grain,
Each to be counted, paid for, till one fell,
  Grew, shot up to another world amain,
And he who dropped might climb it, there to dwell. 
  I too, I clomb another world full fain,
But was she there?  O what would be the end,
  Might she nor there appear, nor I descend?

All graceful as a palm the maiden stood;
  Men say the palm of palms in tropic Isles
Doth languish in her deep primeval wood,
  And want the voice of man, his home, his smiles,
Nor flourish but in his dear neighborhood;
  She too shall want a voice that reconciles,
A smile that charms—­how sweet would heaven so please—­
To plant her at my door over far seas.

I paced without, nor ever liege in truth
  His sovran lady watched with more grave eyes
Of reverence, and she nothing ware forsooth,
  Did standing charm the soul with new surprise. 
Moving flow on a dimpled dream of youth. 
  Look! look! a sunbeam on her.  Ay, but lies
The shade more sweetly now she passeth through
To join her fellow maids returned anew.