ye
Sweetly and tenderly.

As a young forest, when the wind drives thro',
My life is stirred when she breaks on my view.
Altho' her beauty has such power,
Her soul is like the simple flower
Trembling beneath a shower.

As bliss of saints, when dreaming of large wings,
The bloom around her fancied presence flings,
I feast and wile her absence, by
Pressing her choice hand passionately--
Imagining her sigh.

My lady's voice, altho' so very mild,
Maketh me feel as strong wine would a child;
My lady's touch, however slight,
Moves all my senses with its might,
Like to a sudden fright.

A hawk poised high in air, whose nerved wing-tips
Tremble with might suppressed, before he dips,--
In vigilance, not more intense
Than I; when her word's gentle sense
Makes full-eyed my suspense.

Her mention of a thing--august or poor,
Makes it seem nobler than it was before:
As where the sun strikes, life will gush,
And what is pale receive a flush,
Rich hues--a richer blush.

My lady's name, if I hear strangers use,--
Not meaning her--seems like a lax misuse.
I love none by my lady's name;
Rose, Maud, or Grace, are all the same,
So blank, so very tame.

My lady walks as I have seen a swan
Swim thro' the water just where the sun shone.
There ends of willow branches ride,
Quivering with the current's glide,
By the deep river-side.

Whene'er she moves there are fresh beauties stirred;
As the sunned bosom of a humming-bird
At each pant shows some fiery hue,
Burns gold, intensest green or blue:
The same, yet ever new.

What time she walketh under flowering May,
I am quite sure the scented blossoms say,
"O lady with the sunlit hair!
"Stay, and drink our odorous air--
"The incense that we bear:

"Your beauty, lady, we would ever shade;
"Being near you, our sweetness might not fade."
If trees could be broken-hearted,
I am sure that the green sap smarted,
When my lady parted.

This is why I thought weeds were beautiful;--
Because one day I saw my lady pull
Some weeds up near a little brook,
Which home most carefully she took,
Then shut them in a book.

A deer when startled by the stealthy ounce,--
A bird escaping from the falcon's trounce,
Feels his heart swell as mine, when she
Stands statelier, expecting me,
Than tall whi