| |
| HE sat the quiet stream beside, | |
| His white feet laving in the tide, | |
| And watch’d the pleasant waters glide | |
| Beneath the skies of summer. | |
| She singing came from mound to mound, | 5 |
| Her footfall on the thymy ground | |
| Unheard; his tranquil haunt she found— | |
| That beautiful new comer. | |
| |
| He said—“My own Glycerium! | |
| The pulses of the woods are dumb, | 10 |
| How well I knew that thou wouldst come, | |
| Beneath the branches gliding.” | |
| The dreamer fancied he had heard | |
| Her footstep, whensoever stirr’d | |
| The summer wind or languid bird | 15 |
| Amid the boughs abiding. | |
| |
| She dipp’d her fingers in the brook, | |
| And gaz’d awhile with happy look | |
| Upon the windings of a book | |
| Of Cyprian hymnings tender. | 20 |
| The ripples to the ocean raced— | |
| The flying minutes pass’d in haste: | |
| His arm was round the maiden’s waist, | |
| That waist so very slender. | |
| |
| O cruel Time! O tyrant Time! | 25 |
| Whose winter all the streams of rhyme, | |
| The flowing waves of love sublime, | |
| In bitter passage freezes. | |
| I only see the scambling goat, | |
| The lotos on the waters float, | 30 |
| While an old shepherd with an oat | |
| Pipes to the autumn breezes. | |
| |
