Promenade

All sweet and startled gravity,
My Love comes walking from the Park;
Her eyes are full of what they've seen —
The little bushes puffing green,
The candles pale that light the chestnut-tree.

The tulip and the jonquil spies;
The sunshine and the sudden dark;
The dance of buds; and Madam Dove,
Sir Blackbird fluting to his Love —
These little loves my Love has in her eyes.

In dainty shoes and subtle hose
My Love comes walking from the Park;
She is, I swear, the sweetest thing
That ever left the heart of Spring,
To tell the secret: Whence the pollen blows!
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