And lo! where Mary leans her head,
Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet fountain.
The stars are round the crescent moon!
And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow:
Fount, tree, and shed are gone, I know not whither,
This brooding warmth across my breast,
Which none may hear but she and thou!
I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee!
A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting,
I see a fountain, large and fair,
But in one quiet room we three are still together.
Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green willow!
And now they melt to one deep shade!
But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee:
And now it is a dark warm night,
And that and summer well agree:
Two dear names carved upon the tree!
'Twas day! But now few, large, and bright,
By the still dancing fire-flames made;
A willow, and a ruined hut,
This depth of tranquil bliss—ah me!
For dearly, Asra! love I thee!
A wild-rose roofs the ruined shed,
My eyes make pictures, when they are shut:
The balmiest of the month of June!
Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow.
Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming,
O ever—ever be thou blest!
But let me check this tender lay
'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow!
O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow!
And thee, and me, and Mary there.
Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women!
And now they slumber, moveless all!
Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play—
The shadows dance upon the wall