Seeking Love’s face at morn and eventide,
Tho’ oft it was too bright to look upon,
Shining above the splendour of the sun,
A burning flame when day’s dim fire had died.
And now, the last of days, it came to pass
I with my Love, upon a space of grass,
Sate by a water which the willows kept
And silently the stream beneath them swept,
Secret as time, and still, and staying not;
Fair fell the sun thro’ glancing leaves above,