We walked and talked beneath the trees—
Bird-haunted, flowering trees of June—
The roses purpled in the moon,
We breathed their fragrance on the breeze.
Young Percy's voice is turned to clear
Deep tones, as if his heart were deep;
This night it fluttered on my ear
As young birds flutter in their sleep.
My own voice faltered when I said
How very sweet such hours must be
With one we love. At that word he
Shook like the aspen overhead.
"Must be!" he drew me from the shade,
To read my face to show his own:
"Say are, Dear Maud!"—my tongue was stayed;
My pliant limbs seemed turned to stone.
He held my hands I could not move,
The nerveless palms together prest,
And clasped them tightly to his breast,
While in my heart the question strove.
The fire-flies flashed like wandering stars—
I thought some sprang from out his eyes—
Surely some spirit makes or mars
At will our earthly destinies.
"Speak, Maud!" At length I turned away;
He must have thought it woman's fear;
12
