As a young forest while the wind drives through,
My life is stirred when she breaks on my view;
Her beauty grants my will no choice
But silent awe, till she rejoice
My longing with
her voice.
Her warbling voice, though ever low and mild,
Oft makes me feel as strong wine would a child:
And though her hand be airy light
Of touch, it moves me with its might,
As would a sudden
fright.
A hawk high poised in air, whose nerved wing-tips
Tremble with might suppressed, before he dips,
In vigilance, hangs less intense
Than I, when her voice holds my
sense
Contented in suspense.
Her mention of a thing, august or poor,
Makes it far nobler than it was before:
As where the sun strikes life will
gush,
And what is pale receive a flush,
Rich hues, a richer
blush.
My Lady’s name, when I hear strangers use,
Not meaning her, sounds to me lax misuse;
I love none but My Lady’s
name;
Maud, Grace, Rose, Marian, all the
same,
Are harsh, or
blank and tame.
My Lady walks as I have seen a swan
Swim where a glory on the water shone:
There ends of willow branches ride,
Quivering in the flowing tide,
By the deep river’s
side.
Fresh beauties, howsoe’er she moves, are stirred:
As the sunned bosom of a humming bird
At each pant lifts some fiery hue,
Fierce gold, bewildering green or
blue;
The same, yet
ever new.
What time she walks beneath the flowering May,
Quite sure am I the scented blossoms say,
“O Lady with the sunlit hair!
Stay and drink our odorous air,
The incense that
we bear:
“Thy beauty, Lady, we would ever shade;
For near to thee, our sweetness might not fade.”
And could the trees be broken-hearted,
The green sap surely must have smarted,
When my Lady parted.
How beautiful she is! A glorious gem
She shines above the summer diadem
Of flowers! And when her light
is seen
Among them, all in reverence lean
To her, their
tending Queen.
A man so poor that want assaults his health,
Blessed with relief one morn in boundless wealth,
Breathes no such joy as mine, when
she
Stands statelier, expecting me,
Than tall white
lilies be:
And the white flutter of her robe to trace,
Where clematis and jasmine interlace,
Expands my gaze triumphantly:
Even such his gaze, who sees on
high
His flag, for
victory.
We wander forth unconsciously, because
The azure beauty of the evening draws;
When sober hues pervade the ground,
And universal life is drowned
Into hushed depths
of sound.
We thread a copse where frequent bramble spray
With loose obtrusion from the side roots stray,
And force sweet pauses on our walk;
I lift one with my foot, and talk
About its leaves
and stalk.