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And passing by these whisprers, I
Yet farther might have gone,
But that within an oriel sat
A Ladye—only one.
A wreath of roses lay flung by
Her feet, upon the floor,
And choicer buds, whose smell, I ween,
And loveliness were o'er.
She did not hear my coming step,
And I might watch her take
Flowers from her bosom,—happy they
Who such a home might make!
She took a drooping cluster thence
Not rich and rare like those
Which, spurned were lying at her feet,
But such as nature shows,
And spreads with lavish hand
O'er bank and moor and field;
No cultured gardens glittering wealth
Those treasured ones did yield.
Oh, joy! they were the same I gave!
I saw her kiss them o'er—
I saw her place them whence they came
And I was mute no more.
