II
Along the path now rising and now dipping,
Sudden there came, as supple as a reed,
A blue-eyed girl, who balanced, lightly tripping,
An earthen pitcher, fair she was indeed!
Her brow was almost veiled, and in its beauty
Bent languid, while the waves of some day-dream
Passed o'er it—but her feet, still true to duty,
Glided unconscious to the accustomed stream.
The wind upon her shoulders smooth had scattered
Her brown hair with its streaks of shining gold.
A periwinkle—one—her undress flattered,
A rural ornament charming to behold.
Beside the fount from whence the clear stream slanted
Upon a stone she knelt, and looked above;
And then more joyously the bullfinch chanted
His canticle of sacred, sacred love.
III
Came by a mendicant, with no friends loving,
A branch of oak appeared his only friend;
His old frame trembled, and he looked as moving
Unto a grave that must his journeys end.
Upon the branches of a birch with sadness
His empty wallet carefully he hung,
Then o'er the waters murmuring in their gladness,
An eager longing gaze of thirst he flung.
