Page:Poems Jones.djvu/167

"Full densely here the boughs o'erlace,
 Now let us rest," I often said;
"Here, Hertha, is the loveliest place,"—
 And, "Here are cushions for the head."
She only turned a willful face,
 And I, obedient, still was led.

But now a beech had turned the tide
 Through spicewood bowers where followed we;
It spread its silken meshes wide,
 And down a chasm went floating free.
Oh never veil of princess-bride
 In broidery half so rich could be!

There we on couches green did sink:
 No burning sun might rest deny;
But like a bird that chose to drink,
 One flake of light was flitting by,
And all the bubbles on the brink
 Therewith did rainbows multiply.

Then, after rest and reverie long,
 (For who could idly prattle there?))
I spake and did the sweetness wrong,—
 "Dear Hertha, life is full of care;
And we, who are not wise and strong,
 Have more of grief than heart can bear.