Then the crowding madness,
Wild and keen and tender,
Trembles with the burden
Of great joy. 20
Nay, but well I follow,
All unskilled, that fluting.
Never yet was reed-nymph
Like to thee.
XXXVI
When I pass thy door at night
I a benediction breathe:
“Ye who have the sleeping world
In your care,
“Guard the linen sweet and cool, 5
Where a lovely golden head
With its dreams of mortal bliss
Slumbers now!”
XXXVII
Well I found you in the twilit garden,
Laid a lover’s hand upon your shoulder,
And we both were made aware of loving
Past the reach of reason to unravel,
Or the much desiring heart to follow. 5
There we heard the breath among the grasses
And the gurgle of soft-running water,
Well contented with the spacious starlight,
The cool wind’s touch and the deep blue distance,
Till the dawn came in with golden sandals. 10
XXXVIII
Will not men remember us
In the days to come hereafter,—
Thy warm-coloured loving beauty
And my love for thee?