XII.
With their soft eyes of love and gladness raised
Up to the flushing sky, as when we stood
Last by that river, and in silence gazed
On the rich world of sunset. But a flood
Of sudden tenderness my soul oppress’d;
And I rush’d forward, with a yearning breast,
To clasp—alas!—a vision! Wave and wood,
And gentle faces, lifted in the light
Of day’s last hectic blush, all melted from my sight.