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As waves that up a quiet cove
Shadow forth the banks at will;
But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined,
Breathes low between the sunset and the moon;
I watch thy grace; and in its place
While I muse upon thy face;
Through my veins to all my frame, Dissolvingly and slowly: soon,
From thy rose-red lips My name Floweth; and then, as in a swoon,
With dinning sound my ears are rife,
I hear what I would hear from thee;
THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
I See the wealthy miller yet,
His double chin, his portly size, And who that knew him could forget
The busy wrinkles round his eyes? The slow wise smile that, round about
His dusty forehead drily curled, Seemed half-within and half-without,
And full of dealings with the world?
In yonder chair I see him sit,
Three fingers round the old silver cupI see his gray eyes twinkle yet
At his own jest — gray eyes lit up With summer lightnings of a soul
So full of summer warmth, so glad, So healthy, sound, and clear and whole,
His memory scarce can make me sad.
Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss:
My own sweet Alice, we must die. There's somewhat in this world amiss
Shall be unriddled by and by. There's somewhat flows to us in life,
But more is taken quite away. Pray, Alice, pray, my darling wife,
That we may die the self-same day.
Have I not found a happy earth?
I least should breathe a thought of pain. Would God renew me from my birth
I'd almost live my life again.
And once again to woo thee mine —
Across the walnuts and the wine —
To be the long and listless boy
Late left an orphan of the squire, Where this old mansion mounted high
Looks down upon the village spire: For even here, where I and you
Have lived and loved alone so long, Each morn my sleep was broken through
By some wild skylark's matin song.
And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan;
I had no motion of my own.
Before I dreamed that pleasant dream — Still hither thither idly swayed
Like those long mosses in the stream.
Or from the bridge I leaned to hear
The milldam rushing down with noise, And see the minnows everywhere
In crystal eddies glance and poise, The tall flag-flowers, where they sprung
Below the range of stepping stones, And those three chestnuts near, that hung
In masses thick with milky cones.
But, Alice, what an hour was that,
When, after roving in the woods, ('T was April then,) I came and sat
Below the chestnuts, when their buds Were glistening to the breezy blue;
And on the slope, an absent fool, I cast me down, nor thought of you,
But angled in the higher pool.