Xiii

“So was my love confessed to you. I thought You loved me as love led me to believe: And so, no matter where I, dreaming, went Among the hills, the woods, and quiet fields, All had a poetry so intimate, So happy and so ready that, for me, ’Twas but to stoop and gather as I went, As one goes reaching roses in the June. Three withered wild ones that I gathered then I send you now. Their scent and bloom are dust:

1

What wild-flower shows perfection Such as thy face, no blemish mars? I leave to the selection Of all the wild-flower stars: To every wildwood bloom that blows, Wild phlox, wild daisy, and wild rose.

What cascade hath suspicion O’ the marvel that thy whiteness is? I leave to the decision Of each proclaiming breeze: To winds that kiss the buds awake, And roll the ripple on the lake.

What bird can sing the naming Of all the music that thou art? I leave to the proclaiming Of that within my heart: My heart, wherein, the whole day long, Sits adoration rapt in song.

2

What witch then hast thou met, Who wrought this amulet? This charm, that makes each look, love, Of thine a rose; Thy face an open book, love, Where beauty gleams and glows, And thought to music set.

What fairy of the wood, To whom thou once wast good, Gave thee this gift?--Thy words, love, Should be pure gold; And all thy songs as bird’s, love, Sweet as the Mays of old With youth and love imbued.

What elfin of the glade This white enchantment made, That filled thee with the essence Of all the Junes? That made thy soul, thy presence, Like to the moon’s Above a far cascade.

What wizard of the cave Hath made my heart thy slave? That dreams of thee when sleeping, And, when awake, My anxious spirit keeping ’Neath spells I can not break, Sweet spells, whence naught can save.

3

Dear, (though given conclusion to), Songs,--no memory surrenders,-- Still their music breathe in you; Silence meditation renders Audible with notes it knew.

Sweet, when all the flowers are dead, Perfumes,--that the heart remembers Made of them a marriage-bed,-- Shall not fail me in December’s Gloom, but from your face be shed.

Dear, when night denies a star, Darkness will not suffer, seeing Song and fragrance are not far; Starlight of the summer being In the loveliness you are.