That night they parted—but they met again;
The blue sea rolled between them—but in vain!
Leander had no fear—he cleft the wave—
What is the peril fond hearts will not brave!
Delicious were their moonlight wanderings,
Delicious were the kind and gentle things
Each to the other breathed; a starry sky,
Music and flowers,—this is love's luxury:
The measure of its happiness is full,
When all round like it is beautiful.[1]
There were sweet birds to count the hours, and roses,
Like those which on a blushing cheek reposes;
Violets fresh as violets could be;
Stars overhead, with each a history
Of love told by its light; and waving trees,
And perfumed breathings upon every breeze:
These were beside them when they met. And day,
Though each was from the other far away,
Had still its pleasant memories; they might
Think what they had forgotten the last night,
And make the tender thing they had to say
More warm and welcome from its short delay.
And then their love was secret,—oh, it is
Most exquisite to have a fount of bliss
Sacred to us alone, no other eye
Conscious of our enchanted mystery,
Ourselves the sole possessors of a spell
Giving us happiness unutterable!
- ↑ The Vow of the Peacock has 'When all around shares its own enchanted lull.' here.
