I listen not with my ears, but my soul;
And I feel the sudden accustom'd blush,
As again the whisper reaches its goal.
I open the window. 'Mid blossom and bough
Of clustering laurel and Daphne white,
I am showering kisses on Harry's brow,
And dropping the first tears I've shed to-night.
His face is as white as the Daphne-bud;
He is hiding down on the hidden sward;
He is wan and haggard, and splashed with mud;