Then smiled she airily;
And answered merrily
With words that—verily
Made me decide:
And drawing tow'rd her,
I there implored her—
I who adored her—
To be my bride.
VI.
O sweet simplicity
Of young rusticity,
Without duplicity,
Whom love made know,
That hearts in meter
Make earth completer;
And kisses, sweeter
Than—berries grow.
To a Pansy-Violet
Found Solitary Among the Hills.
I.
O pansy-violet,
With early April wet,
How frail and pure you look
Lost in this glow-worm nook
Of heaven-holding hills:
Down which the hurrying rills
Fling scrolls of melodies:
O'er which the birds and bees
Weave gossamers of song,
Invisible, but strong:
Sweet music webs they spin
To snare the spirit in.