“She is coming, my own, my sweet,
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Had it lain for a century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.”
The waves of lovely sound rose higher and higher, seemed to break over and engulf them:
“My heart would hear her and beat....
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.”