26.
How the pinks are breathing fragrance!
How the thronging stars so tender,
Golden bee like, sadly glimmer
’Mid the heaven’s blue-violet splendour!
Through the gloom of yonder chestnuts
Gleams the manse, so white and stately,
And I hear the glass door rattling
While the dear voice thrills me greatly.
Sweet alarm and blissful tremor,
Soft embraces, terror-bringing—
And the youthful rose is list’ning,
And the nightingales are singing.