Shone like a white flower on a darkling mere
Or like one star that flashes, rapture-fraught,
Through one blue gulf of heaven serene, and clear.”
She sang, “I dreamed not: happiest sleep is deep:
I woke as wakes the young bird in the woods;—
Thy spirit must have hung above my sleep,
A bower balm-breathing from a thousand buds.”
We strove in song; we sang, my love and I,
Where laughed the streams, and where the rock's broad breast
Echoed the untaught, ecstatic harmony: