To spin my silken cord from what you wear,
In long warm tresses over face, to stare
Through quaintly; nor a golden hook to snare
The water’s fruit! or more than this cool nook,
With that one look
Between the willow branches at the sky
From where we lie,
Edged round with ribbon grasses tangled in
The lover’s knots, as if they meant to win
Love hither by a meaning that is kin;