Then, in a festive scene, you claimed her hand
For the gay dance, and, in its intervals,
Spoke soothingly and gently, for you saw
Her timid blush, but did not dream its cause.
Even then her young heart worshiped you, and shrunk,
With a vague sense of fear and shame, away.
She who, with others, was, and is, even now,
Light, fearless, joyous, buoyant as a bird,
That lets the air-swung spray beneath it bend,
Nor cares, so it may carol, what shall chance,