XXVII.

"And with him Albert came on his.

I looked at him with joy:

As cowslip unto oxlip is,

So seems she to the boy.

XXVIII.

"An hour had past-and, sitting straight

Within the low-wheeled chaise,

Her mother trundled to the gate

Behind the dappled grays.

XXIX.

"But, as for her, she staid at home,
And on the roof she went,

And down the way you use to come
She looked with discontent.

XXXI.

"Then ran she, gamesome as the colt,

And livelier than a lark

She sent her voice through all the holt
Before her, and the park.

XXXII.

"A light wind chased her on the wing,
And in the chase grew wild,

As close as might be would he cling
About the darling child:

XXXIII.

"But light as any wind that blows

So fleetly did she stir,

The flower, she touched on, dipt and rose,

And turned to look at her.

XXXIV.

"And here she came, and round me played,

And sang to me the whole

Of those three stanzas that you

made

XXXV.

"And in a fit of frolic mirth

She strove to span my waist: Alas, I was so broad of girth,

I could not be embraced.

XXXVI.

"I wished myself the fair young beech
That here beside me stands,

That round me, clasping each in each,
She might have locked her hands.

XXXVII.

"Yet seemed the pressure thrice as sweet

As woodbine's fragile hold,

Or when I feel about my feet

The berried briony fold."

XXXVIII.

O muffle round thy knees with fern,

And shadow Sumner-chace!

Long may thy topmost branch discern

The roofs of Sumner-place!

XXXIX.

But tell me, did she read the name

I carved with many vows,

When last with throbbing heart I came
To rest beneath thy boughs?

XL.

"O yes, she wandered round and round

These knotted knees of mine,

And found, and kissed the name she found, And sweetly murmured thine.

XLI.

"A tear-drop trembled from its source, And down my surface crept.

My sense of touch is something coarse,

But I believe she wept.

XLII.

“Then flushed her cheek with rosy light,

She glanced across the plain; But not a creature was in sight: She kissed me once again.

XLIII.

"Her kisses were so close and kind,
That, trust me on my word,

Hard wood I am, and wrinkled rind,
But yet my sap was stirred:

XLIV.

"And even into my inmost ring A pleasure I discerned,

Like those blind motions of the Spring, That show the year is turned.

The ringlet's waving balm

The cushions of whose touch may press

The maiden's tender palm.

XLVI.

"I, rooted here

among the groves,

But languidly adjust

My vapid vegetable loves

With anthers and with dust: