THISTLE. 



He soiled her not with touch profane, 

 Nor stabbed her with unholy eyes; 

 A truer instinct made him wise, 

 With her he shared the earth and skies, 



And still forbore a nearer claim. 



Outstretched beneath the absolute heaven, 

 Along the parching earth he lay, 

 Till, thro the breathless August day, 

 He felt a conscious sympathy, 



A subtle knowledge, subtly given. 



A life intense within him grew; 

 His thought a second self became, 

 And mixt his youthful blood with flame,- 

 Her separate throes of passion-pain 



Swept all his tingling pulses thro ! 



The sun, a throbbing ball of fire 



Dropped slowly down the blanching west, 

 He staggered by, as one possessed, 

 Still dizzy with the thought unguessed, 



The ache and throb of strong desire. 



76 



