Morning in the woods
O Love! me and my unknown name you have well won;
The witch's name was Rapunzel; eh! not so sweet?
No!—but is this real grass, love, that I tread upon?
What call they these blue flowers that lean across my feet?
Dip down your dear face in the dewy grass, O love!
And ever let the sweet slim harebells, tenderly hung.
Kiss both your parted lips; and I will hang above.
And try to sing that song the dreamy harper sung.
'Twixt the sunlight and the shade
Float up memories of my maid,
God, remember Guendolen!
Gold or gems she did not wear,
But her yellow rippled hair,
Like a veil, hid Guendolen!
'Twixt the sunlight and the shade,
My rough hands so strangely made,
Folded Golden Guendolen;
Hands used to grip the sword-hilt hard,
Framed her face, while on the sward,
Tears fell down from Guendolen.
Guendolen now speaks no word,
Hands fold round about the sword,
Now no more of Guendolen.