And you, O pretty, shallow lake,
Must needs get ruffled and perplexed!
He kissed and fled, now wide-awake
You are at once, and cross, and vexed;
Lift your soft arms and let them fall—
There is no stillness now at all.
I think the pain of it is not
That it crept down to wake and kiss,
And give attentions all unsought,
I think the pain of it is this:
On your warm breast it did not stay,
It kissed, and then raced far away.
You are so jealous you must cry
And toss about in much unrest—
The rushes bend, the white gulls fly—
In this wild mood I like you best.
You were too peaceful, and too still
Before the wind crept round the hill.
Deserted
SHE stood that night with a face so set,
So filled with bitterness and despair,
Closing my eyes, I can see her yet,
Sorrowful, broken, but passing fair.
Her eyes were fixed on the sky above,
Where stars were shining so soft and clear;
Did the ghosts of innocence and love
Steal out of the gloom and stand quite near?
So young to quiver beneath such smart!
A fairer brow ’twould be hard to find—
The pity of it! a broken heart,
And childhood lying so close behind.
I heard her whisper, “’Twas long ago
That I laughed for joy at the touch of morn,
Kneeled down and prayed in the light and glow—
Ah me! I cry now—tempest-torn:
“‘Thank God for night, and the world asleep’—
Their eyes pierce through me the long, long day—
Thank God for the darkness, soft and deep,
That folds me, and hides me quite away!”