I stopped to cull, with faltering hand,
A shell that, on the golden sand,
Before us faintly gleamed;
I trembling raised it, and when you
Had kist the shell, I kist it too—
How sweet, how wrong it seemed!
Oh, trust me, 'twas a place, an hour,
The worst that e'er the tempter's power
Could tangle me or you in;
Sweet Nea, let us roam no more
Along that wild and lonely shore.
Such walks may be our ruin.
* * * * *
You read it in these spell-bound eyes,
And there alone should love be read;
You hear me say it all in sighs,
And thus alone should love be said.
Then dread no more; I will not speak;
Although my heart to anguish thrill,
I'll spare the burning of your cheek,
And look it all in silence still.
Heard you the wish I dared to name,
To murmur on that luckless night,
When passion broke the bonds of shame,
And love grew madness in your sight?
Divinely through the graceful dance,
You seemed to float in silent song,
Bending to earth that sunny glance,
As if to light your steps along.
Oh! how could others dare to touch
That hallowed form with hand so free,
When but to look was bliss too much,
Too rare for all but Love and me!
With smiling eyes, that little thought,
How fatal were the beams they threw,
My trembling hands you lightly caught,
And round me, like a spirit, flew.
Heedless of all, but you alone,—
And you, at least, should not condemn.
If, when such eyes before me shone,
My soul forgot all eyes but them,—