The gentle wind that waves The green boughs here and there, Is showing how my hand Waved Kitty's finer hair. The Bee, when all his joints Are clinging to a Blossom, Is showing how I clung To Kitty's softer bosom. The Rill, when his sweet voice Is hushed by water-cresses, Is Kitty's sweeter voice Subdued by my long losses. Those little stars that shine So happy in the skies, Are those sweet babes I saw, Whose heaven was Kitty's eyes. The Moon, that casts her beam Upon the hill's dark crest, Is Kitty's whiter arm Across my hairy breast. The hazel nuts, when paired Unseen beneath the boughs, Are Kitty and myself, Whenever Chance allows. |