Have seen no more than the wet ray that dips

The shivered waters, wrinkling where I pass;

But, in the liquid light, where she doth hide,

I have beheld the azure of her gaze

Smiling; and, where the orbing ripple plays,

Among her minnows I have heard her lips,

Bubbling, make merry by the waterside.

III

Or now it is an Oread—whose eyes

Are constellated dusk—who stands confessed,

As naked as a flow'r; her heart's surprise,

[4] 

Like morning's rose, mantling her brow and breast:

She, shrinking from my presence, all distressed

Stands for a startled moment ere she flies,

Her deep hair blowing, up the mountain crest,

Wild as a mist that trails along the dawn.

And is't her footfalls lure me? or the sound

Of airs that stir the crisp leaf on the ground?

And is't her body glimmers on yon rise?

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