W. T GREEN TO HELEN. I saw thee once-once only-years ago : It was a July midnight; and from out A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber, Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe- Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses, Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses LAD all in white, upon a violet bank I saw thee half reclining; while the moon Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight— my heart beats in coupling those two words!) Save only thee and me. I paused-I lookedAnd in an instant all things disappeared. (Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!) |