AGAINST her breast I set my head, and lay Beneath the summer fruitage of a tree, Whose boughs last spring had borne for her and me The fleeting blossom of a doubtful day; That rose and white had tasted swift decay, And now the swelling fruits of certainty Hung there like pale green lamps, and fair to see, And I was strong to dream the hours away Against her breast: Her satins rustled underneath my head, Stirred by the motions of her perfect heart, But she was silent, till at last she said, -- While all her countenance flushed rosy-red, -- "Dear love! oh! stay forever where thou art, Against my breast!" |