And spell thy looks, and guess thy thoughts,
Mixed with the idlers on the pier.
Ah! might I always rest unseen,
So I might have thee always near!
To-morrow hurry through the fields
Of Flanders to the storied Rhine!
To-night those soft-fringed eyes shall close
Beneath one roof, my queen! with mine.
FADED LEAVES.
I. THE RIVER.
Still glides the stream, slow drops the boat
Under the rustling poplars' shade;
Silent the swans beside us float:
None speaks, none heeds; ah, turn thy head!
Let those arch eyes now softly shine,
That mocking mouth grow sweetly bland;
Ah! let them rest, those eyes, on mine!
On mine let rest that lovely hand!
My pent-up tears oppress my brain,
My heart is swoln with love unsaid.
Ah! let me weep, and tell my pain,
And on thy shoulder rest my head!
Before I die,—before the soul,
Which now is mine, must re-attain
Immunity from my control,
And wander round the world again;
