Her arms were twined about my form;
I looked into her eyes;
The light that shone in their starry depths
Was as clear as summer skies;
And her face had that pure spirit-look
That any sin defies.
Her dark curls laid upon my neck,
Her clear cheek to my own,
And her gentle breath perfumed the air
Like hyacinths half-blown;
While words of sweetest poetry
Wreathed with her music tone.
The proud boy marked her soft, low words;
His tones grew wild and deep,
And I felt the heart so near my own
More passionately leap,
And the warm blood to her rose-leaf cheek
In a swift torrent sweep.
And still we three held converse there,
Beneath the midnight moon,
Nor thought that the night was waning fast,
And the stars would very soon
Grow wan and pale in the misty air,
As if sinking in a swoon!
The scene was changed. In a vaulted hall
I sat amid a crowd,
And round me pressed an eager throng
Of the gifted and the proud;
And all to the might of eloquence
In quiet rapture bowed.
I almost hushed my breath to hear,
