Hey, the hills when the evening settles!
Oh, the heavens within her eyes!
What will he ask ’mid the dropping petals?
And what will she say with sighs?—
“Look, where the west is a blur of roses!”—
“There’s naught like the rose o’ the cheeks I see!”—
“Look, where the first star’s eye uncloses!”—
“But what of your eyes, my destiny?”
ANDALIA AND THE SPRINGTIME
I
Blow, winds, and waken her!
You, who have taken her,
Never forsaken her,
Filled her with spring!
My mad and merriest
Part of the veriest
Season and cheeriest:
Blow, winds! and sing,
Birds of the spring! that taught her
Airs of the woods; this daughter
Wild of the winds, that waft her
Into my heart with laughter,
Wild as a wildwood thing.
II
She, who is fraught with it,
Thrilled with it, brought with it,
Spring!—like a thought, with it
Beautiful too!
Now like a dream of it;
Filled with the gleam of it;
Now a bright beam of it,
Piercing me through,
Sweet, with her eyes that are often
Laughter and languor; that soften
Dreamily, drowsily, slowly,
Then, on a sudden, are wholly
Dancing as dew.
III
Face,—like the sweetest of
Perfumes,—completest of
Flowers God’s fleetest of
Months ever bear!—
Listen, O lisper wind,—
Lighter and crisper wind,—
Have you a whisper, wind,
Soft as her hair?
Night and the stars did spin it;
Darkness and brightness are in it:
Let but a ray of it bind me,
Wrap it around me and wind me,
Blind as the blind are and blinder,
Yet through my heart would I find her,
Lost though I were.