About her window, at the dawn,
From the vine's crooked boughs
Birds chirupped an arouse:
Flies, buzzing, strengthened with the morn;--
She'll not hear them again
At random strike the pane:
No more upon the close-cut lawn,
Her garment's sun-white hem
Bend the prim daisy's stem,
In walking forth to view what flowers are born.
No more she'll watch the dark-green rings
Stained quaintly on the lea,
To image fairy glee;
While thro' dry grass a faint breeze sings,
And swarms of insects revel
Along the sultry level:--
No more will watch their brilliant wings,
Now lightly dip, now soar,
Then sink, and rise once more.
My lady's death makes dear these trivial things.
Within a huge tree's steady shade,
When resting from our walk,
How pleasant was her talk!
Elegant deer leaped o'er the glade,
Or stood with wide bright eyes,
Staring a short surprise:
Outside the shadow cows were laid,
Chewing with drowsy eye
Their cuds complacently:
Dim for sunshine drew near a milking-maid.
Rooks cawed and labored thro' the heat;
Each wing-flap seemed to make
Their weary bodies ache:
The swallows, tho' so very fleet,
Made breathless pauses there
At something in the air:--
All disappeared: our pulses beat
Distincter throbs: then each
Turned and kissed, without speech,--
She trembling, from her mouth down to her feet.
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