I will journey again—
As in a crystal pool of fire,
Catching burnished images
Of light, reflected
After the golden sun has set
In splendid rays of central force,
Along the landscape low,
All down to Carraroe.
As clear as frost,
And cold as ice,
On the spindle thread
Of trembling silk-spun webs,
Among the thorns
By the rose-red path,
Along the washy slope
To where the bank is green,
As in a dream—
And where we met.
The love-light, dim at first,
Awoke with the first playful glance,
Then danced upon her face—
When she
In her pure language
Spoke to me.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
