O’erhung with wild and blooming vines, and felt
The spirit of a holy love bedew
Our hearts’ own budding blossoms. There I drank
The wild, o’ermastering tide of eloquence
That flowed from thy o’erwrought and burning soul.
There thou didst twine a wreath of sweetest flowers
To shine amid my dark brown locks, and now
Beside me lies a bud, the little bud
Thou gav’st me in the glad, bright summer-time,
Telling me ’twas the emblem of a hope