Under yonder beech-tree single on the No, she is athirst and drinking up her greensward, Couched with her arms behind her golden head, Knees and tresses folded to slip and ripple idly, wonder; Earth to her is young as the slip of the new moon. Deals she an unkindness, 'tis but her rapid measure, My sweet leads: she knows not why, but now she loiters, Eyes the bent anemones, and hangs her hands. Such a look will tell that the violets are peeping, 85 Coming the rose; and unaware a cry Springs in her bosom for odors and for color, Sweeter unpossessed, have I said of her my sweetest? Not while she sleeps: while she sleeps the jasmine breathes, Luring her to love; she sleeps; the starry jasmine Bears me to her pillow under white rose-wreaths. Covert and the nightingale; she knows Yellow with birdfoot-trefoil are the grassnot why. glades; Saw I once a white dove, sole light of This I may know: her dressing and unearth. dressing |