[Pg 34]

STOLEN WATERS.

STOLEN WATERS.

That breathed around the place;

And with a wayward grace

Her queenly head she bare.

She met me on the way:

Within her smile that lay:

[Pg 35]

The grass with many a flower:

In that accursëd hour.

She said, or seemed to say,

I could not choose but stay:

I could not say her nay.

With rarest fruitage laden:

“’Tis good for knight and maiden.”

Oh, deaf mine ear that would not heed—

The mocking voice of greed!

A fire within my brain:

In sweet delirious pain.

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