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And thus, morning after morning, spite of

vows and spite of sorrow,

Did I follow at her drawing, while the

week-days passed along;

Just to feed the swans this noontide, or to

see the fawns to-morrow,

Or to teach the hillside echo some sweet

Tuscan in a song.

Ay, for sometimes on the hillside, while

we sat down in the gowans,

With the forest green behind us, and its

shadow cast before;

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And the river running under; and across

it from the rowans

A brown partridge whirring near us, till

we felt the air it bore,

There, obedient to her praying, did I read

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Shows a heart within blood-tinctured, of a

veined humanity.

Or at times I read there, hoarsely, some

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