In the grey olive-grove a small brown bird
Had built her nest and waited for the spring.
But who could tell the happy thought that came
To lodge beneath my scarlet tunic’s fold?
All day long now is the green earth renewed 5
With the bright sea-wind and the yellow blossoms.
From the cool shade I hear the silver plash
Of the blown fountain at the garden’s end.
XVI
In the apple boughs the coolness
Murmurs, and the grey leaves flicker
Where sleep wanders.
In this garden all the hot noon
I await thy fluttering footfall 5
Through the twilight.
XVII
Pale rose leaves have fallen
In the fountain water;
And soft reedy flute-notes
Pierce the sultry quiet.
But I wait and listen, 5
Till the trodden gravel
Tells me, all impatience,
It is Phaon’s footstep.
XVIII
The courtyard of her house is wide
And cool and still when day departs.
Only the rustle of leaves is there
And running water.