I

I

I

And draw thee amorous to my wakeful heart

That beats for thee alone, in vague unrest.

I long to front thee when thou'rt lily-dress'd

In white attire,—e'en like the flowers of old

That Jesus praised; and, though the thought be bold,

I'm fain to kiss thee, Sweetheart! through thy hair

And hide my face awhile in all that gold.

iv.

[41] 

[41]

I will not say what more might then be done,

I

I

I

And how, by moonlight or beneath the sun,

We might be happy. In a reckless mood

I've talk'd of this; and dreams and many a brood

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