That fill wild oaten pipes on wand'ring ways,
Embowered deep, with mountain melodies,—
Simple with love and plaintive even to tears,—
Her presence, her sweet presence like a song.
And when she left, it was as when one hath
Beheld a moonlit Undine, ere the mind
Adjusts one thought, cleave thro' the glassy Rhine
A glittering beauty wet, and gone again
A flash—the soul drifts wondering on in dreams.
Some thirty years agone is that; and I,