Young Love

On a flower in a forest,
A lily-bosom'd flower,
(Where never windy tempest
Came, nor ever any shower) —
A golden hour of birthtide,
(The sky was blue, so blue!)
Left me lying 'mid a songtide
Of birds of every hue.

Upon the white flower swaying
I laughed and sang in glee,
Till the thrushes long delaying
Sang back deliciously;
And the dear white cloudlets sleeping
Up in the blue, blue sky,
Seem'd downy cherubs peeping
Between the pine boughs high.

A little wind came blowing
And sang a wild-wood song,
It whispered of the flowing
Of bubbling streams along;
I laughed, and stood, and rising
Found I had two small wings —
So then I flew rejoicing
Toward the water-springs.

And ever 'mid my flying,
(A little cloud I seem'd)
I heard a great deep sighing,
As earth in trouble dream'd;
And when I reached the river
The sound more windlike blew:
The glad stream lisped " for ever, "
But the sighing grew and grew.

And as I laughed and wonder'd
Among the flowers and grass,
All suddenly it thunder'd,
The sunlight seem'd to pass
A great wind took and blew me
Across a grey wet sand,
And tho' I wept it threw me
Far from the joyous land.

And now the salt waves leaping
Pursue with hungry springs,
And baffled, blind, and weeping,
I beat my draggled wings:
This was the great deep sighing
I heard when I was' young —
And now, wind-weary, dying,
My last sob-note is sung!
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