Thou cliff with flowers upon thy brow!
A thousand times have I seen you,
But as a statue’s face might view,—
I love you now—first love you now!
I do not love myself so much,—
A sentiment of nobler touch
I find within, since I. . . .” Then sped
Across her cheek the deepest red,
And what her words left unexpressed
Was in a half-sigh uttered best.