270
BERTHA IN THE LANE.
Little sister, thou art pale!
Ah, I have a wandering brain—
But I lose that fever-bale,
And my thoughts grow calm again
Lean down closer—closer still!
I have words thine ear to fill,—
And would kiss thee at my will.
Ah, I have a wandering brain—
But I lose that fever-bale,
And my thoughts grow calm again
Lean down closer—closer still!
I have words thine ear to fill,—
And would kiss thee at my will.
Dear, I heard thee in the spring,
Thee and Robert—through the trees,—
When we all went gathering
Boughs of May-bloom for the bees.
Do not start so! think instead
How the sunshine overhead
Seemed to trickle through the shade.
Thee and Robert—through the trees,—
When we all went gathering
Boughs of May-bloom for the bees.
Do not start so! think instead
How the sunshine overhead
Seemed to trickle through the shade.
What a day it was, that day!
Hills and vales did openly
Seem to heave and throb away,
At the sight of the great sky:
And the Silence, as it stood
In the Glory's golden flood,
Audibly did bud—and bud!
Hills and vales did openly
Seem to heave and throb away,
At the sight of the great sky:
And the Silence, as it stood
In the Glory's golden flood,
Audibly did bud—and bud!
Through the winding hedgerows green,
How we wandered, I and you,—
With the bowery tops shut in,
And the gates that showed the view—
How we talked there! thrushes soft
Sang our pauses out,—or oft
Bleatings took them, from the croft.
How we wandered, I and you,—
With the bowery tops shut in,
And the gates that showed the view—
How we talked there! thrushes soft
Sang our pauses out,—or oft
Bleatings took them, from the croft.
Till the pleasure, grown too strong,
Left me muter evermore;
And, the winding road being long,
I walked out of sight, before;
And so, wrapt in musings fond,
Issued (past the wayside pond)
On the meadow-lands beyond.
Left me muter evermore;
And, the winding road being long,
I walked out of sight, before;
And so, wrapt in musings fond,
Issued (past the wayside pond)
On the meadow-lands beyond.
