80 MYSTERIES:
As free as summer-time, to sound or cease:
God’s utmost peace
Lies like a cloud upon the quiet land.
O little hand!
White hand with rose leaves shed about the tips,
As if my lips :
Had left their bloom upon it when they kissed,
As if a mist
Of God’s delicious dawn had overspread
Their face, and fled!
O wonderful fresh blossom of the wood!
O purpling blood!
O azure veins as clear as all the skies!
O longing eyes
That look upon me fondly to beget
Two faces, set
Either like flowers upon their laughing blue,
Where morning dew
_ Sparkles with all the passion of the dawn!
The happy lawn
Leads, by the stillest avenues, to groves
Made soft by loves ;
And all the nymphs have made a mossy dell
Hard by the well
Where even a Satyr might behold the grace
Of such a face
As his who perished for his own delights,
So well requites
That witching fountain his desire that looks.
Two slow bright brooks