182 THE LOVER IN THE GARDEN 



I said to the lily, " There is but one 



With whom she has heart to be gay ; 

 When will the dancers leave her alone ? 



She is weary of dance and play." 

 Now half to the setting moon are gone, 



And half to the rising day ; 

 Low on the sand and loud on the stone 



The last wheel echoes away. 



I said to the rose, " The brief night goes 



In babble and revel and wine. 

 O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, 



For one that will never be thine ? 

 But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, 



" For ever and ever, mine." 



And the soul of the rose went into my blood, 



As the music clash'd in the hall ; 

 And long by the garden lake I stood, 



For I heard your rivulet fall 



From the lake to the meadow and on to the 

 wood, 



Our wood, that is dearer than all ; 



From the meadow your walks have left so sweet 

 That whenever a March wind sighs 



He sets the jewel-print of your feet 

 In violets blue as your eyes, 



To the woody hollows in which we meet 

 And the valleys of Paradise. 



