I’ll go tell my uncle. [Going.]
Ideal.
Nay, hold. Within thy words, as in the cinctured
Filaments of lace thou wear’st, I see the fine
Transparent tracery of gossamer
Designs. In such a web I’d fain be caught.
Violet.
And I’d fain catch thee.
Ideal.
Come, let us walk within this pleasant glen;
And if we weary,—on a mossy bank,
In the cool shade of interlacing leaves,—
We’ll watch the gentle coquetry between
A burning sunbeam and a shaded fern.
There’s not a fern-leaf, berry, blade of grass,
Nor flower, but I’ll gather it for thee.
If at thy feet it grow, then I’ll kneel there;
If higher, in a crevice of the cliff,
Together we will reach for it, and in
The touching of our finger-tips it shall
Part company with earth in ecstasy.
And if, above, thou dost but gladly view
That most sky-kissing flower, the heavenly bluebell,
Which with transparent hue embellishes
The summit of the cliff, why, I’ll climb there.
Violet.
And leave me in the lone recesses of the glen?