WITH breath of thyme and bees that hum, Across the years you seem to come, -- Across the years with nymph-like head, And wind-blown brows unfilleted; A girlish shape that slips the bud In lines of unspoiled symmetry; A girlish shape that stirs the blood With pulse of Spring, Autonoe! Where'er you pass, -- where'er you go, I hear the pebbly rillet flow; Where'er you go, -- where'er you pass, There comes a gladness on the grass You bring blithe airs where'er you tread, -- Blithe airs that blow from down and sea You wake in me a Pan not dead, -- Not wholly dead! -- Autonoe! How sweet with you on some green sod To wreathe the rustic garden-god; How sweet beneath the chestnut's shade With you to weave a basket-braid; To watch across the stricken chords Your rosy-twinkling fingers flee; To woo you in soft woodland words, With woodland pipe, Autonoe! In vain, -- in vain! The years divide: Where Thamis rolls a murky tide, I sit and fill my painful reams, And see you only in my dreams; -- A vision, like Alcestis, brought From under-lands of Memory, -- A dream of Form in days of Thought, -- A dream, -- a dream, Autonoe! |