I went for a woodland walk With Rose, whom I heeded not; 'Twas in old, old times—our talk Was of trifles long forgot. I was marble-cold, and shy, As I roamed with listless strides: We babbled of flowers—her eye Seemed to ask, "Is there nought besides?" The dewdrops hung, like pearls, On the copse of shady dales; I listened aye to the merles, And Rose to the nightingales. I was sixteen—@3sans coeur@1— She twenty—blithe and free— The nightingale sang to her, And the blackbirds whistled at me. With white arms raised, she stood Stretched to her utmost height, To pluck some fruit in the wood— I saw not her arms so white. A streamlet, fresh and deep, Over velvet mosses strayed, And Nature seemed to sleep In the grand wood's solemn shade; Rose lifted her robe of white, And dipped, with an innocent air, Her naked foot in the wavelet bright— I saw not her foot so fair. We roamed in the woods longwhile, But never a word spake I, Though I saw her sometimes smile, And heard her sometimes sigh; I felt not how fair that maid, Till we left the deep woodland glen; "Amen! we won't think of it more," she said— I have thought of it oft since then! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNDER A TELEPHONE POLE by CARL SANDBURG SEA GODS: 3 by HILDA DOOLITTLE THE SUPPLIANT by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE ODES: BOOK 1. ODE 1. PREFACE by MARK AKENSIDE THE DIFFERENCE by ANGELO PHILIP BERTOCCI TAKE YOUR CHOICE: AS WALT MASON WOULD DO IT by BERTON BRALEY |