WILLOWWOOD
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I sat with Love upon a woodside well,Leaning across the water, I and he;Nor ever did he speak nor looked at me,But touched his lute wherein was audibleThe certain secret thing he had to tell:Only our mirrored eyes met silentlyIn the low wave; and that sound came to beThe passionate voice I knew; and my tears fell. And at their fall, his eyes beneath grew hers;And with his foot and with his wing-feathersHe swept the spring that watered my heart's drouth.Then the dark ripples spread to waving hair,And as I stooped, her own lips rising thereBubbled with brimming kisses at my mouth.
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