hung

In masses thick with milky cones.

But, Alice, what an hour was that,

When after roving in the woods ('Twas April then), I came and sat Below the chestnuts, when their buds

Were glistening to the breezy blue;
And on the slope, an absent fool,
I cast me down, nor thought of you,
But angled in the higher pool.

A love-song I had somewhere read, An echo from a measured strain, Beat time to nothing in my head From some odd corner of the brain. It haunted me, the morning long, With weary sameness in the rhymes, The phantom of a silent song,

That went and came a thousand times.

boy?

For I was alter'd, and began To move about the house with joy, And with the certain step of man.

I loved the brimming wave that swam Thro' quiet meadows round the mill, The sleepy pool above the dam,

The pool beneath it never still, The meal-sacks on the whiten'd floor, The dark round of the dripping wheel, The very air about the door

Made misty with the floating meal.

And oft in ramblings on the wold,

When April nights began to blow, And April's crescent glimmer'd cold, I saw the village lights below; I knew your taper far away,

And full at heart of trembling hope, From off the wold I came, and lay Upon the freshly-flower'd slope.

But when at last I dared to speak,

The lanes, you know, were white with may,

Your ripe lips moved not, but your cheek

Flush'd like the coming of the day; And so it was-half-sly, half-shy, You would, and would not, little one!

Although I pleaded tenderly,

And you and I were all alone.

And slowly was my mother brought
To yield consent to my desire:
She wish'd me happy, but she thought

I might have look'd a little higher; And I was young-too young to wed:

"Yet must I love her for your sake; Go fetch your Alice here," she said:

Her eyelid quiver'd as she spake.

And down I went to fetch my bride: But, Alice, you were ill at ease; This dress and that by turns you tried, Too fearful that you should not please,

I loved you better for your fears,

I knew you could not look but well; And dews, that would have fall'n in tears,

I kiss'd away before they fell.

I watch'd the little flutterings, The doubt my mother would not see;

She spoke at large of many things,

And at the last she spoke of me; And turning look'd upon your face,

As near this door you sat apart, And rose, and, with a silent grace Approaching, press'd you heart to heart.

Ah, well-but sing the foolish song
I gave you, Alice, on the day
When, arm in arm, we went along,
A pensive pair, and you were gay
With bridal flowers- that I may seem,
As in the nights of old, to lie
Beside the mill-wheel in the strea,
While those full chestnuts whisper
by.

It is the miller's daughter

And she is grown so dear, so dear,
That I would be the jewel

That trembles in her ear:

For hid in ringlets day and night,
I'd touch her neck so warm and white.

And I would be the girdle

About her dainty dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me, In sorrow and in rest:

And I should know if it beat right, I'd clasp it round so close and tight.

And I would be the necklace,

And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom,

With her laughter or her sighs, And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasp'd at night.

A trifle, sweet! which true love spellsTrue love interprets — right alone. His light upon the letter dwells,

For all the spirit is his own. So, if I waste words now, in truth You must blame Love. His early

rage Had force to make me rhyme in youth, And makes me talk too much in age.

And now those vivid hours are gone, Like mine own life to me thou art, Where Past and Present, wound in one,

Do make a garland for the heart: So sing that other song I made,

Half-anger'd with my happy lot, The day, when in the chestnut shade I found the blue Forget-me-not.

Love that hath us in the net
Can he pass, and we forget?
Many suns arise and set.
Many a chance the years beget.
Love the gift is Love the debt.
Even so.

Love is hurt with jar and fret.
Love is made a vague regret.
Eyes with idle tears are wet.
Idle habit links us yet.
What is love? for we forget:
Ah, no! no!

Look thro' mine eyes with thine. True wife,

Round my true heart thine arms intwine

My other dearer life in life,

Look thro' my very soul with thine! Untouch'd with any shade of years, May those kind eyes forever dwell! They have not shed a many tears, Dear eyes, since first I knew them well.

Yet tears they shed: they had their part

Of sorrow: for when time was ripe, The still affection of the heart

Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again,

And left a want unknown before; Although the loss has brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more,

With farther lookings on. The kiss, The woven arms, seem but to be Weak symbols of the settled bliss,

The comfort, I have found in thee: But that God bless thee, dear - who wrought

Two spirits to one equal mindWith blessings beyond hope or thought,

With blessings which no words can find.

Arise, and let us wander forth,

To yon old mill across the wolds;