Page:Poems Welby.djvu/190

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182
Thy white hand trained the fragrant bough
That drops its blossoms o'er me now;

'T was here at eve we used to rove,
'T was here I breathed my whispered vows,
And sealed them on thy lips, my love!
Beneath the apple-boughs.
Our hearts had melted into one,
But Death undid what Love had done.

Alas! too deep a weight of thought
Had filled thy heart in youth's sweet hour;
It seemed with love and bliss o'erfraught,
A fleeting passion-flower,
Unfolding 'neath a southern sky
To blossom soon, and soon to die.

Yet, in those calm and blooming bowers
I seem to feel thy presence still,
Thy breath seems floating o'er the flowers,
Thy whisper on the hill;
The clear, faint starlight, and the sea,
Are whispering to my heart of thee.

No more thy smiles my heart rejoice,
Yet still I start to meet thine eye,
And call upon the low, sweet voice,
That gives me no reply—
And list within my silent door
For the light feet, that come no more.